


An Infinite Dance

by OutofOrm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Ballet, Dancer Grantaire, Fluff, Grantaire pov, Lawyer!Enjolras, M/M, Modern AU, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Prokofiev, a bit of angst, all of the L'Amis, and, dancer!grantaire, without it wouldn't be Grantaire would it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutofOrm/pseuds/OutofOrm
Summary: "The universe was especially cheeky when it started to meddle with the lives of two young men. One a cynic with a passion for dancing. The other an idealist with a passion for justice. It may take something as old, wise, and crazy as the universe to think those two capable of loving each other. But the moment you see them together there is no way to imagine the one without the other."orGrantaire is a professional ballet dancer. Back in school, he knew Enjolras but he thought he left that life behind. A broken toe and a new group of friends bring Enjolras back into his life - he was not prepared for this.
Relationships: Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), backround Courfeyrac/Jehan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	1. PIVOT

Sometimes the universe seems to be a cheeky bitch. That suspicion is mostly fueled by events that are so unlikely that they couldn’t possibly be accidental. Sometimes the universe seems to be a bit bored and so it starts to play with the little mortals on earth just to entertain itself. It probably thinks it is funny to play match maker. Well, maybe it’s funny for the universe, the little humans who are the subjects of these shenanigans definitely think differently.  
Well, I say universe, but you could easily replace it with fate - or god (call it want you want).

The universe (fate, god, etc.) was especially cheeky when it started to meddle with the lives of two young men. One a cynic with a passion for dancing. The other an idealist with a passion for justice. It may take something as old, wise, and crazy as the universe to think those two capable of loving each other. But the moment you see them together there is no way to imagine the one without the other.  
This beginning is a little bit too pathetic – for this is simply as story of two people learning to leave behind past misunderstandings and to love. But then again, the universe (fate, god, etc.) always loves a dramatic start.

* * *

Grantaire was a cynic. He started to be one when he was thirteen. It was also around that time he started drinking too much. It took him some five, six years to stop the drinking. The cynicism stayed, though - but maybe not with the vehemence it had when he was sixteen. He learned to lose himself not in alcohol but in music and movements, which is – of course – far healthier than intoxication. Being one with the music helped him calm down, it made him forget how rough the world could be. In loosing himself in the steps of his feet, in the sequence of postures, he found happiness. The stage was a home he found when he thought he would never have one. He felt free when he was up there.

  
After his life took a drastic turn when he was barely fourteen he never thought he could be happy again. He did. He moved to the big city, and he couldn’t believe his luck when he got the opportunity to become a member of the towns ballet company (one of the best after all!) and when he first realized that he was genuinely happy he was afraid because he had to re discover that feeling.

Grantaire’s life took another turn when he was 26 and broke his toe. This is where I suspect the universe to have its finger in the pie. As they say.  
A broken toe isn’t the most dangerous injury, but the feet are a dancers main working equipment and so Grantaire was angry. It meant he couldn’t dance for a few weeks, and that right at the same time he was announced to be one of the principals. He worked hard for that and now he broke a toe.  
And not even while he was dancing.

He broke his toe because he fell down some stairs. It would be funny, but it really is not.  
He and Éponine decided to move in together, after all they spend almost every minute together. She was member of the corps de ballet and the first person he became friends with after moving to the city. They were carrying Éponine’s bed up three flights of stairs (without much difficulty – dancers are just muscles and determination, after all) but the last corner was a bitch. It seemed to be narrower than the others without apparent reason and they were stuck. Éponine was at the top, trying to navigate the thing, while Grantaire started to feel the whole weight of it.

“PIVOT!” He heard Éponine laughing.

“I hate you! Why isn’t it moving?”

“R, I think the stairway is smaller up here?”

“For fuck’s sake” Grantaire grunted and tried to push the bed upwards but it was moving exactly zero centimeters.  
  
“We should push it higher. Maybe that will work?”  
  
“I swear to god, if it’s not working I’ll leave it and you have to sleep here. My hands start to hurt”  
  
“Don’t de such a cry baby.” Éponine’s red face appeared some two meters above Grantaire. She counted to three and both of them pushed and pulled the bed up, there was a screeching sound when the headboard scratched against the wall but the bed actually moved.  
  
“PIVOTE”, Éponine shouted triumphantly but at the same moment the bed made some sort of jumping movement, Éponine lost balance, and the bed came crashing down.   
  
Grantaire had to let go in order to not get hit by the flying bed, stumbled against the wall and slipped down three steps. The bed came to a halt on the landing and Grantaire let out some of the more colorful swears he knew.  
  
“OHMYGODAREYOUOKAY”, Éponine squeezed around the bed and helped Grantaire up. He pulled a face and sat down again.  
  
“I think my toe is crushed”, he looked at her in horror, “Fuck”.  
  
“I am so sorry!” That Éponine looked like she was about to cry oddly calmed Grantaire’s nerves. She never cries. He pulled of his shoe and looked at his left foot. Two of his toes already started to turn a lovely shade of blue-purple-red-yellow.  
  
“I’ll drive you to the hospital. Maybe they can straighten them or something.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s what you do with broken toes, Éponine.”  
  
“I don’t care. Grantaire, your foot…”   
  
She still looked in horror at his foot and he started to wonder why he wasn’t more freaked out because his foot. He let her help him up and they stumbled to the van they had rented for the move. His toes started to throb with pain and Éponine stared cursing again because they didn’t think about putting ice on them. But, luckily, it was only a five-minute ride to the next hospital and Éponine supported him on the way into the ER. A bored looking woman was sitting there. It was 11 am on a Tuesday and that’s apparently not the time when a lot of accidents happen.  
  
“Hello. My name is Grantaire and I think I broke two toes.”  
  
“Ah”  
  
Silence.  
  
“Uhm, may I see a doctor?”  
  
“Sure. I need your health insurance card and then you can go to the waiting room. It may take a while”  
  
The lack of interest was almost admirable. It probably took a lot of time to be that unfazed by people coming to the ER. Grantaire wondered if she would have reacted differently if he had an axe inside his skull. Probably not.  
  
“Excuse me!”, Éponine didn’t take the calmness of the nurse with the same amusement as Grantaire, “we need someone to look at the toe immediately! He is one of the best ballet dancers in the country and if he’s not going to be treated RIGHT NOW he may never be able to dance again! Do you want this young man’s career on you record?” Éponine tends to get aggressively dramatic in situations like this.  
  
“Ah”  
  
The woman seemed to be completely indifferent to an eventual loss of dancing talent. Éponine looked like she was about to climb over the counter so Grantaire tried to pull her away in the direction of the waiting room.  
  
“Thank you. But she is kinda right. I would appreciate it if I won’t have to wait for too long”, he said over his shoulder to the nurse. She still looked only slightly bothered.

“Hello. My name is Joly. And I would love to look at your feet”  
  
“Thank God we’re at a hospital otherwise that introduction would be weird as fuck”, Grantaire stood up and took Joly’s outstretched hand.  
  
“That’s true”, Joly laughed “please come with me to the treatment room. Can you walk or do you need a wheelchair?”  
  
“Naah, I can hop on one feet if necessary. But I don’t think it is.” Grantaire sort of lolloped along and waved at Éponine who stayed at the waiting room.  
  
Joly led him inside a small room with a bed where he sat down and put this foot up. Joly put on gloves and started to take a careful look at the two toes which by now had a blue-purple color and were swollen. When he touched them Grantaire couldn’t help but gasp in pain. His hands cling onto the paper blanket on the bed. Joly shot him an apologetic look.  
  
“I think we better make an x-ray. It looks like they may be broken. But if you’re lucky they are only really badly bruised.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Grantaire was brought to a room (in a wheelchair this time. Joly said it would be faster (it was) and more fun (it was)) where a nice looking woman put a heavy lead jacket on him and told him to keep his foot as still as possible.  
  
He had to wait almost an hour after that and he and Éponine watched bad telly in the waiting room where now a man with a nasty graze on his forehead lay across three chairs.  
  
Joly called him back in the treatment room and told him that his little toe was broken but not complicated and that it would take three weeks to heal and that the other was just bruised.  
  
“I have to put your whole foot into bandage though, because a little toe is really hard to put plaster on. You shouldn’t walk too much the next few days.”  
  
“Will it heal completely? Can I move normally afterwards?” Grantaire was a bit afraid of the answer. The hour in the waiting room was enough to get over the shock and really   
realize what it could mean for his dancing. What if he wouldn’t be able to dance again? He didn’t plan to be a teacher with 26. He wanted to end his dancing career because he was too old, not because of injury. His fear must have shown on his face because Joly looked concerned.  
  
“Yes. I think there won’t be any problems. Are you an athlete?”  
  
“No. Well, kind of. I am a dancer. Ballet.”  
  
Joly smiled and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.  
  
“I cannot promise, because that’s the first thing you learn in med school ‘never promise the patient anything’ but I am almost certain that your toe will be 100% okay again. But it is important that you go easy and be kind to that little toe. My friend Bossuet once broke all of his toes when his flip-flop got caught in a drain cover but they all healed”  
  
“How did he manage that?”  
  
“No clue. It’s his special talent.” Joly laughed and finished the bandage. He then handed him a crutch and said he should go to his GP for the backup checks.  
  
When Grantaire came back to the waiting room Éponine just got off the phone.  
  
“That was our new landlord. He wants to know why there is a bed on the stairs.”

Needless to say that his trainer was everything but happy. He shouted at them for being stupid and send Grantaire to his own doctor, who just confirmed everything Joly said. His understudy looked a little bit terrified when he learned that he would dance Grantaire’s part but soon he was all enthusiastic and the company calmed down and practice continued.   
Grantaire attended the rehearsals to learn “by looking” – which was nice and also funny because he kept making jokes and shouting comments from the side – and had to go to the gym to compensated the lack of training – which was awful because he hates the gym and he suspected it to be some kind of punishment for breaking his toe and maybe also for being a distraction during training. Who knows.  
  
The healing process was quicker than anticipated and two weeks after the accident (“the incident with the flying bed of doom” as Ép is now calling it), the bruised toe was almost at a normal colour and size again and the other was getting better every day. Grantaire was only using one crutch and could walk almost limp free.   
  
That’s when the universe (fate, god, etc.) decided to make its next move.

Grantaire was at his favorite coffee shop for lunch break, ordering a salad with chicken breast and a chai latte when he, quite literally, ran into Joly when he turned around to walk back to his table.  
  
“Shit, sorry”, he mumbled and pulled a face because he accidentally put weight on the broken toe, “oh hey! Hello Doc”  
  
“Hello broken toe. How’s the foot?” Joly laughed. He did that a lot, apparently.  
  
“Quite good actually. Only one toe blue anymore.” Grantaire smiled and nodded to the other man that stood next to Joly, who looked at R’s foot with so much interest, that Grantaire had no doubt that he was a doctor, too.  
  
“Good to hear. It would have been a shame to not be able to dance anymore because of one broke a toe. But I guess if it happens during dancing it would be like dying for love or something.”  
  
“That is such a nice and slightly pathetic comparison that I would love to say that it’s like that but I think it would not be the same. Besides, I didn’t break it during dancing. Embarrassingly enough, I slipped on the stairs.”  
  
Joly laughed and the guy next to him made a giggly noise, that Grantaire hadn’t expected from him. He didn’t look like someone who giggles. He was tall, round spectacles on his nose with a serious expression around the eyes. When he saw Grantaire’s confused look, he stretched out his hand.  
  
“Hello, I am Combeferre.”  
  
“Grantaire. I guess, you two are colleagues?”  
  
“Well, kind of” said Combeferre and pushed his glasses up his nose “we’re finishing med school right now and are doing our internship at the same hospital.”  
  
Someone behind them cleared their throat quite obviously and Grantaire stepped aside to make room at the counter and pointed at his table and invited Joly and Combeferre to join him. They sat down shortly after with giant mugs of coffee and talked a bit about med school and Combeferre seemed to be really interested in his dancing.  
  
It became a semi regular thing for them to meet at the coffee shop. Med school wasn’t far away and Joly and Combeferre often brought their books and papers with them to study in the cozy atmosphere. Grantaire met Bossuet who proudly told him the flip-flop-drain-cover-story. Whenever they happened to be at the coffee shop at the same time they sat around a table, talking or just enjoying silent company.  
  
After a month Grantaire was able to use his foot again and he felt so much relief when he discovered that he could use it as if the broken toe never happened that he wondered if he had been more worried that he had realized. As a little celebration he and Éponine made a huge bowl of Spaghetti Bolognese and Grantaire allowed himself a glass of red wine.  
  
  
It was summer now. The ballet prepared for the next season and Grantaire got his first major part as Tybalt in Romeo and Juliet. He decided to grow a beard for that. Éponine said he looked like a pirate, but their director liked it. In the past weeks he had become close friends with Joly and suddenly found himself integrated in his group of friends who all seemed to like him. Except for Éponine, he never really had a bigger group of friends and he enjoyed it immensely.

A few years ago, he had times when dancing was all that kept him together. When the physical exhaustion after a training session was a welcomed distraction form the emotional exhaustion. The shadows of his past were still haunting him. The feeling of incompetence, of uselessness, and isolation sometimes crept in on him especially when he couldn’t deliver the performance on the level he knew he was able to reach, and then he had to be careful not to lose control again. Éponine helped him. They helped each other. They knew the look on their faces, knew when the sadness in their eyes was becoming too much to bear alone. Maybe ballet with its competitiveness and exhaustion wasn’t something one would think healthy for them, but oddly enough ballet was the anchor that worked for them. Together they worked through their lows, through the shadows and self-doubts. Grantaire couldn’t imagine his life without Éponine but he knew that it would be dangerous to cling to much, to not allow people into his life. Because that was a mistake he did before and so he welcomed this sudden flood of new people.

He liked Joly, who may be the most hypochondriac person he ever met but who’s also such a happy person.  
And Combeferre who is a little quite but so warm and always willing to help. He’s basically a walking encyclopedia and interested in everything.   
Soon after Combeferre, he met his best-firend who Grantaire could only describe as a “fucking ball of sunshine and energy”. Courfeyrac was a lawyer, something Grantaire couldn’t quite believe when he heard it the first time but Combeferre assured him that Courf could be serious, he just didn’t like it.   
When Grantaire met Courfeyrac’s boyfriend for the first time he was reminded of a painting by Kandisky. Mainly because every item of clothing was a different color and shape. Jehan wrote poetry and worked at a bookshop and Grantaire soon discovered that he was one of the strongest minded and yet kindest people he ever met - his morbid kind of humor was like the cherry on top.   
Grantaire knew he found his people. He felt comfortable and he found himself opening up to them like he only ever did to Éponine. To see that they welcomed Éponine, too, silenced the nagging feeling of guilt he had at the beginning, when he didn’t spend as much time with her as he used to.

On a particular hot night at the beginning of July they all met at the park for a picnic and to enjoy the soft night air. Everyone made food and drinks and Bahorel, a two meter guy with tattoos all over his body and the biggest smile imaginably, brought a badminton set and soon they were in the middle of an improvised tournament. Éponine was currently playing a match with Courfeyrac, which involved a lot of shouting and laughing and insults.  
  
“That’s fucking unfair”, screamed Courf after Éponine made an impressive jump and hit the shuttlecock only vaguely back into his direction, “no dancing tricks!”  
  
Grantaire laughed and shifted his weight onto one elbow to grab a strawberry out of a bowl.  
  
“You two are very close.” It wasn’t so much of a question, more like the statement of an observation. Combeferre looked at Ép who was now chasing Courf around the grass because he had stolen her racket.  
  
“Yes. I’ve known her since I moved here when I was 20,” he looked up at Combeferre, who was sitting cross-legged. “I don’t think I could have become the charming person I am right now without her.”

Combeferre smiled at that, but there was a hint of sadness in the smile that Grantaire couldn’t place.   
He tried to read the other man’s profile for he was still watching the now re-started game of badminton. He looked a bit tired but that’s no surprise because he was practically living at the hospital right now.   
His eyes followed the game and suddenly Grantaire thought he understood.  
  
“I came to the city with nothing but the hope that I would be able to dance,” he started to say quietly, not looking at Combeferre. “I met Ép at auditioning day. She shouted at me because I accidentally ran into her. She was a bitch, she looked like she would kill everyone in the room. I liked her. We were one of the few to be accepted and we basically never been apart from that moment.” Grantaire stopped because he had to smile at the thought of 18 years old Éponine and the terrified looks the other girls had on their faces. But Grantaire had caught a quick glimpse of her face just before she went onto stage for her audition. She looked downright scared. But it was only a second and then she had a smile on her lips and the determination of a warrior in her eyes. He knew she would make it.  
  
Combeferre looked at him and there was the sadness in his smile again.  
  
“You are perfect for each other.”  
  
“We actually are perfect for each other,” Grantaire said it without joke in his voice because he wanted Combeferre to understand. “I was only half-joking right now. I don’t think I could’ve made it without her. But I think you have a false idea about our relationship. We are friends, nothing more.” He looked Combeferre straight into the eyes, and he thought he saw a little spark of hope.  
  
“Oh, I thought…,” he actually blushed a little bit (at least, Grantaire thought he did, it was hard to tell with Ferre’s caramel like complexion.) “I am sorry. I had not right to assume...”  
  
“Oh god, no. You have nothing to be sorry for!” Grantaire said with a laugh.  
  
“We never thought about us that way. She lives for the company, for ballet.” And then he added with a wink (because why not play a little game of cupid?), “But I know under the layers upon layers of self-control and snark, she is a little romantic dragonfly.”  
  
Yes, now Combeferre was definitely blushing.  
  
“But if you tell her I said that and endangered her reputation as a stony Amazon, I’m gonna kill you”  
  
At that Jehan looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in and said thoughtfully: “Please don’t kill Ferre. But if you do, I know places to hide a body.”  
Grantaire’s roaring laughter and Combeferre’s slightly terrified expression attracted the others and soon everyone was gathered at the blanked and they started eating.  
Courfeyrac handed beer bottles around, Combeferre put slices of a quiche Grantaire had made on paper plates.  
  
“OK, Ferre, why is there a whole coconut in your bag?” Bossuet was presenting it with a questioning look.  
  
“I was wondering if we would find a way to open it without a knife!” Combeferre looked like an excited child who was allowed to watch twenty extra minutes of television.  
  
“That could end very badly,” Courfeyrac said, but looking delighted all the same. “Do you want a beer, too, Grantaire?”  
  
“Oh, no. Thank you. I’d love to, but I should not” Grantaire always felt self-conscious when he said something like this. Even though the reaction that followed was always the same.  
  
“Oh right! I bet your trainer doesn’t allow too much alcohol. But I have coke, if you want?” Courfeyrac handed him a bottle and started to talk about the many ways he knew to crack a coconut.

He used to drink. Grantaire knew that he was on the best way to become an alcoholic, but he was 16 and everything was against him – even he himself. Drinking made him forget and when he started to remember it was all the more painful, so he drank even more. It was a vicious circle and he didn’t know how to escape it.   
But when – suddenly – the escape route did open up, he took it because he knew it was probably the only chance he’d ever get. He thought that maybe the universe had taken pity on him, yet he wasn’t sure if the universe even knew he existed. Fairly few people seemed to know or care. When he was 18, he decided to not drink himself into oblivion anymore, to not take stuff to forget.   
Only Éponine knew this. He left that part of his life (The Lost Four Years) behind when he moved. But the question if he wanted a drink still stung. He occasionally drank – wine when there’s something to celebrate but never more than two glasses. But those are rare occasions and he’s proud that he found this strength inside him.  
And it is so easy to say that he doesn’t drink because of his need to be physically at his best at all times. It is true but only half of the truth. He didn’t drink because he wanted to continue being the Grantaire he came to accept, to even be proud of from time to time.

“The best way to open that fucking coconut is to climb on top of the nearest building and drop it.” Grantaire pointed at an apartment building on the other side of the little park. When he saw the sparks in Courfs eyes he knew that that was exactly what they were going to do. The shocked look on Combeferre’s face and the quite mumbling from Bossuet that he’d probably fall off that damn roof with his luck were not taken into account and so they all took off to find a way into the building.  
  
Bahorel decided to just ring the first bell his enormous thumb landed on and the group huddled around the speaker, waiting for the inhabitant of the flat to say something.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
It was the voice of a woman. Sounding slightly surprised.  
  
“Erm, yes, hello,” it was Courfeyrac who had the courage to speak first. “We’d like to see if we can crack a coconut open if we throw it from the roof and we would really appreciate it if you could open the door so we could maybe get on the roof? Please?”  
  
Silence  
  
“Sure thing”  
  
They cast unbelieving looks around and Grantaire could hear Éponine say “holy fuck” and see Combeferre nodding in agreement.  
  
The door-lock buzzes and they all tried to squeeze in at once and walk up the stairs trying to make as little sound as possible. On the third floor they can see a woman leaning in the doorframe, she was all curls and honey colour and had a wicked smile on her lips.  
  
“So, you lot want to throw a coconut down my roof?”  
  
Grantaire heard Bossuet trip over the last step and stumble against the wall. Joly grinned at him and put a hand around his elbow to steady him.  
  
“Yeah. We had a picnic and a friend had a coconut and we were debating the best way to crack it open and I said that we should throw it off a roof. So here we are. And I bet you are interested in the result.” Grantaire tried his most convincing smile.  
  
“I actually am,” she said. “And mostly I wanted to see who would do such a stupid thing. I see, and I approve. But this building doesn’t have a roof you can walk on…well, nine people don’t look like they are about to kill me so: come in. You are very welcome to throw that coconut out of my window.”  
  
They all looked at her like she’s some kind of vision until Éponine makes a move.  
  
“Hi, I’m Éponine. Thank-you for letting us throw that fucking coconut out of you window. They are all nuts.”  
  
After that they all introduced themselves, Jehan handed strawberries around and they started to debate whether to throw it out on the concrete or in the small garden on the other side of the house. Feuilly had the brilliant idea that someone should stand on the street to collect the pieces of the coconut. And also to watch out for passing people because Combeferre was nervous that someone would suddenly step out of the house and be killed by the falling coconut. (He also said to no one in particular that Enjolras would not allow this, if he’d be here. His concerns in the whole coconut affair was quite funny, after all he brought the damn thing.) So Grantaire and Courfeyrac went downstairs and were cheered on by the rest when they appeared on the pavement.  
  
Jehan was standing at Musichetta’s (the name of the coconut-experiment-host) balcony and dramatically declared some Shakespeare in the direction of Courfeyrac who made heart-eyes.  
  
“Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”  
  
Courfeyrac shouted back that Jehan was the Mercutio to his Benvolio at which Grantaire snorted and mockingly did some of the steps Romeo does at the balcony scene he had to see in practice all the time while he had his broken toe in bandage.  
  
Both Jehan and Courfeyrac did some sort of squeal-y sound and Courfeyrac almost begged him to do some more. Grantaire laughed and said that he wasn’t wearing the right shoes. Still he did one simply entrechat and a sort of mocking grand jeté. Then he bowed deep and declared:  
  
“Now. Let’s smash some fucking nut!”  
  
(The explanation of Combeferre “Actually, coconuts aren’t really nuts. They are stonefru…” were hushed by Éponine putting her hand over his mouth.)

As one can imagine the coconut burst into a lot of pieces, but everyone was more than satisfied by this small act of destruction. A lot of laughter and story-telling followed in the cozy living-room of Musichetta’s flat, while everyone was nibbling at a piece of coconut.  
It was one of those nights that brings friends closer together and that will later be brought up in conversation with the phrase “Do you remember that night we threw the coconut out of the window?”  
A few years later it would be in the context of “Do you remember how Joly and Bossuet met Musichetta? It was the night of the coconut.”  
  
Maybe there was a piece of universe inside that coconut...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this story five years ago - i think. I saw Romeo & Juliet (the John Neumeier production) and had this sudden image of R in tights and Enjolras being flustered. Corona and finishing my degree meant free time and this popped up again. It is not set in Corona times...
> 
> Next on: There will be angst and comfort and love. There will also be Twister.
> 
> (Forgive any mistakes - English is not my first language)


	2. Visit from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Enjolras appears and Grantaire has a melt down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a shocking lack of Enjolras in the first chapter. And, to be fair, there isn't a lot in this, either.  
> As a disclaimer and TW: R's having a bit of a crisis in this and a small panic attack.

It was the beginning of September, the late summer air buzzing with heat and the tension of a thunderstorm. Grantaire stood on the balcony of Joly and Bossuet’s flat watching the people walk by on the pavement below, the wind played with his hair and he never wanted to leave but a glance on his watch told him that he should get going because they had rehearsals this evening. With a sigh he turned back into the flat and found Joly in the small hallway.

“I’ve got to go. I have rehearsals. Again, Harry Birthday, Joly. I hope the coming year is a fucking great one.”

Joly winked at him and pulled him into a tight hug and then opened the door.

“Thank you for coming. It’s unfortunate that you have to go because Enjolras is back from his internship in Brussels and he promised to come by tonight.”

That Enjolras. Grantaire had heard about him because they talked about him quite a lot. He was off in Brussels doing an internship at the EU human rights commissioner’s office. Courfeyrac told him that they work together and try to bring awareness to the struggle of the lower class people (a word Courfeyrac pulled a face at) and the marginalized groups of society. Grantaire thought it a noble cause. Yet he didn’t believe that there would be much hope. A noble but a lost cause. He witnessed first-hand the incompetence of the bureaucracy and the unwillingness of people in power to try new ways of thinking. How could a few people change the course of a system that had worked itself into a state of inflexibility, that would never be able to leave the paths it had build itself? He argued about this stuff with Combeferre and at some point he gave him a sad little smile, the one that happened to be on his face a bit too often, and told Grantaire that maybe he should believe a little bit more in the people and their wish to be free. Grantaire thought that people rather keep living like this because it’s the path of least resistance and in turn accept to not be as free as they could be. Freedom always carries with it the element of the unknown and the new. And Grantaire thought that they lived in a world that made it pretty obvious that people were afraid of new things, thoughts, people, and ways of living. And that fear of the new would always be in the way of freedom. But when his friends talked about this stuff they all looked hopeful, so Grantaire tried to restrain himself.

Grantaire shouted his farewell in the direction of the living-room and turned to walk out of the door and down the stairs. In the same moment a man reached the top steps. His face was a bit flushed and he was a little out of breath as if he had taken two steps at a time. The pink heightened the cheekbones that looked like they were the descendants of Greek gods. His blond hair was put into a loose bun at the neck and his strikingly blue eyes shortly looked directly at Grantaire, then he walked past him and said a few warm greeting words to Joly.

Grantaire thought he had a vision.

“FUCK”

He could hear Joly say something behind him, something about saying Hi to Enjolras but Grantaire started to stumble down the stairs as fast as he could.

He had a vision, a deja-vú, a meeting with his past.

He couldn’t stay, he needed air, he needed to move!

He knew those blue eyes, they had looked at him more than once with harshness and cold contempt. Those eyes and that angelic face, though always with an irritated and sometimes almost scornful look, were the only clear images in a sea of blurred memories. Four years lived in a foggy cloud of alcohol and other intoxication melted together into one misery but that face, that man stood out. There were times when Grantaire went to school just to see those eyes. It hurt to have been be looked at with so much disdain, but it had been the most bearable part of his self-destructiveness. That face, that man, was the most beautiful and most terrible thing Grantaire knew. He looked like a Greek statue, god-like. Grantaire used to call him Apollo in school and felt a bang of happiness and screaming pain when those blue eyes fixated him in return and he had told him to stop calling him that. The joy Grantaire felt from getting a reaction out of him was only matched with the terrible pain he felt because it was always a cold reaction.

Enjolras was his Apollo. He should have known. He seemed to have changed his name or maybe he’s going by his last name now. Grantaire remembered that the young man in school always looked pained when he was called by his name. It probably didn’t fit his democratic believes. _Louis_. Grantaire once called him his “Sun King” and Enjolras had looked like he was about to commit murder.

After _The Four Lost Years_ Grantaire tried to forget those eyes. The man that left a clear image in his brain when there was nothing else to remember from that time. He wanted to forget him to leave all of the pain of those dark times behind. He couldn’t. But with time he thought about them less.

And now they were back.

Grantaire started running the moment he was out of the door. His feet took him to the theatre, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was always grateful that for almost 10 years there had been no visit from his past. No people he knew back then, no incident that could have brought back the time he felt less and less like a human. Maybe it had been false hope. Maybe this was bound to happen eventually. The past is never gone for good.

Enjolras. Apollo. Enjolras. Enjolras.

The shadow he learned to lock away deep inside a corner of his soul started screaming. Feelings he suppressed for so long convulsed and fear spread inside his lungs until he felt like he was about to suffocate. When he arrived at the theatre, he shouted Éponine’s name down the hallway to the dressing-rooms. She looked out, only half dressed in tights and an over-sized jumper and the moment she saw his face her expression changed to that of deep worry. He knew he must look like hell. He felt like hell. He felt like he was about to fall apart.

She pulled him into a tight hug, but she didn’t ask what was wrong because they knew each other well enough for her to know that everything was wrong. She knew he would talk when he found the strength. She was running smoothing circles over his scalp while he took deep breaths at her shoulder, trying to calm down. It took him a while to collect the energy to talk.

“Enjolras. I met him at Joly’s. I know him.” It wasn’t as painful to speak his name, as he thought it might be. Éponine hummed and just continued to run her fingers through his curls.

“I went to school with him,” he knew that Éponine understood what that meant, because her fingers shortly stopped the soothing movement. “He knew me during that time. He hated me. He _despised_ me, Ép. And now he is here.”

“You are not the same Grantaire you used to be back then.”

“Maybe. But…but he brings it all back. I thought I never see him again. He is a part of the past me.”

He was sure that it made no sense what he was saying, but he hoped that Éponine would understand. He felt so comfortable in the group of friends he had found because he broke his fucking toe. And now he didn’t know how to react. Well, obviously his body decided to have a panic attack, but he had no idea what the _logical_ reaction could have been. How’s he supposed to react, to behave?

They sat on a bank in the dressing-room for some time.

“Maybe…I mean this is no comfort actually, but maybe he doesn’t remember you? Maybe he didn’t recognize you?” Éponine said hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if it sounded too mean.

Grantaire laughed bitterly, because, yes. That could very well be possible. Why should a perfect being like Enjolras remember him? He only looked at him for a second and there was no sign that he had recognized him.

“Probably not. Who would?”

“No! No. I didn’t mean it that way and you know it! Ten years is a long time.”

“You didn’t know me back then. Nobody wanted to know me. Fuck,” He rubbed this face with his hands and tried to grin, it looked more pained than anything.

“We never actually had a conversation for more than five minutes… Yeah. You’re right. He won’t remember me. I’m sorry I was all dramatic.”

“You’ve got all rights to be,” she looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t pretend you are okay, if you’re not. You looked like you had a proper panic attack back there. If you want, we can go home.”

“Thank you, Ép. Really. But I think the training will calm me. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

She hugged him again and he was so damn grateful that he had her at his side.

–

The bodily exhaustion that followed after the training session was welcomed. But today it also reminded him a little bit too much of the time when he was nineteen and he danced and pushed his body to the edge of breaking. When he and Ép came home that night he took a long shower - but washing the shadows away never worked. After he changed into the comfiest clothes he had, he walked into the kitchen to make himself a tea. With a pang of guilt he saw that Éponine had put the two bottles of wine away that always stood on top of the fridge and that were actually more of kitchen decoration at this point.

Apparently, he had been in such a bad state when he met Éponine earlier that she was afraid he might fall back into bad habits. It pained him to know that she was concerned. He hated it and he hated himself for it because he knew that it could happen. He wasn’t sure how he would react the next time he’d meet Enjolras. What if the panic, the fear, and all the feelings came back again? It took him so long to defeat the despair, hate, and confusion from _The Four Lost Years_ that he knew he shouldn’t put himself into a situation where it all could come back to him so easily. But maybe it would not come back, he told himself. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing those eyes unexpectedly. Maybe the next time they won’t trigger him. Maybe he could react calm and composed. Maybe he could easily ignore the feelings if Enjolras really had no idea that they knew each other.

But maybe, he had to admit, maybe he was just thinking this optimistic crap because he wanted nothing else than to see those eyes, that face again. Even while thinking he was about to choke earlier, he had held onto the image of blue eyes in a flushed face, framed by stray strands of gold-blond hair. Maybe the last ten years of relative peace was all he got. Maybe, Grantaire thought while he watched his tea go cold inside his hands, maybe the universe had granted him those ten years and is now back with all the cruel power it possesses to make his life a living hell again.

He tried to not be cynic. He really, really tried. He wanted to believe that he changed enough to not be bothered by a reminder of his past. Why was he still so scared of those four years? They are gone. What are four years compared to ten? But he had never been one to be optimistic. No, really not. He knew that the four years matter because they define everything he was right now. He could judge his chances. He knew that he was always in danger of crossing the line back into the self-destructive behavior.

Maybe he should meet Enjolras one more time and if it would not work, if he could feel the shadow in his chest grow, he’d have to walk away. Maybe his survival instinct would kick in, just like it did when he was 17. But if he really had to walk away, he knew it would be hard. So hard. He started to love his friends. All of them. But he would not put the burden of choosing between him and Enjolras on them. Not even the fuss of separating their time between them. Because, why should they choose him? They would always be Enjolras friends first. From all he heard them talking about him, he knew that they were all really close. Especially Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras. No, they would not choose him. How could he even think about that possibility in the first place? But they are all in possession of such kind and loving hearts, that they would not let him go. They would try to stay in contact with him. And he could not be the cause of so much trouble. No. If he could not stand being around Enjolras he would walk away. Without expecting anything from them.

Those were the dark thoughts Grantaire had that night. I’m sure that the universe (fate, god, etc.) didn’t think it would hit him so hard. It started to meddle with his life because it likes to see people fall in love. But it always underestimates the human capacity for suffering – especially if it has to do with love. I think it forgets that the human soul, and the feelings it is able to contain, is as huge as the universe itself.

With realizing that Grantaire wasn’t exactly happy with the newest developments in his life, the universe (fate, god, etc.) decided to try its best to turn the situation around. After all, it started this whole chain of events to see a love story, not a tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not really a happy chapter - sorry! And I think i promised Twister. Sorry again.  
> So next on: a PAR-TAY, a shampooing skeleton and Twister (promise)


	3. A Benedikt to his Beatrice?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a party and awkward small-talk.

A few days later Grantaire went to the coffee shop during break and while he queued he spotted Éponine and Combeferre on a table in the corner. Éponine was talking about something she had strong opinions about, Grantaire could tell, because her hands were flying all around. Combeferre arms were on the table, hands around his mug and he was listening to her, a smile on his face. The smile was of a sort Grantaire had never seen on Combeferre’s face before. It was full of happiness.

Grantaire decided to make a discreet exit but Combeferre had seen him and was waving. He grabbed his coffee, unsure what to do but Éponine made a little nodding movement and he sat down at their table.

“I don’t want to interrupt anything,” he said with a grin he hoped contained about the right amount of teasing. Combeferre’s ears went pink and Éponine raised her eyebrows.

“Nope. We were talking about why there are more male surgeons than female ones.”

“So I’m right on time for gender politics and injustice. Nice.”

“I told Ép about the only female surgeon who’s doing her internship at the our hospital. She’s brilliant but I really think that the old assistant medical director is a misogynist. She never gets to see the difficult or interesting operations.” Combeferre looked a bit disgusted.

“We have to do something against those damn old snobs!” Éponine’s fist hit the table.

“We?” Grantaire asked. “Do you want to become a surgeon just out of spite?”

“No, idiot. I meant we at this table and women in general must stop tolerating the fucking condescending behavior of men. We are probably better at anything men claim to be best at just because our ego won’t be in the way of us accomplishing things!” She looked furious and Combeferre nodded along.

“Well. That sounds like a nice little task for a Sunday afternoon. Maybe we can do that this week and then think about world peace next month.” Grantaire said wryly.

“Stop it, Grantaire. You know I’m right.”

“Of course I know you’re right! I think men are undeserving assholes. But I just think it will be fucking impossible to get it into the brains of old dudes that they should treat all people with respect.”

“I think Enjolras would love to discuss this with you,” said Combeferre with an amused smile.

Grantaire clenched his teeth and tried to force a smile on his face. Éponine looked at him with a sharp look in her eyes.

“Sounds like that would go well” Grantaire took the last sip of his coffee. Mainly to hide his face and to give his hands something to do. But maybe also so he could leave as soon as possible.

“He loves a good disputation.”

“He must be fun to have around,” commented Éponine dryly.

Combeferre giggled his unexpected giggle and they started to talk about something else.

\---

On Thursday he got a text from Courfeyrac.

* Hey R! We are throwing a bit of a welcome-back party for Enjolras at Jehan’s. You in? *

~ Uhm, I don’t know Enjolras. Wouldn’t it be weird for me to be there? ~

*Nah. And it’s also just 90% excuse to have a gigantic PAR-TAY*

~ Well, then. How could I say no to a “PAR-TAY” ~

* Great! xxx*

Grantaire put the phone down with a grunting noise.

The PAR-TAY was that Saturday. To say that Grantaire was nervous was an understatement. When he and Éponine were getting ready, he stood in front of his clothes with no idea what to wear and was wondering if he was going crazy.

“You’re crazy”, informed him Éponine from the door to his room, standing there with crossed arms. She was wearing black jeans and a glittery top he had never seen before. She looked great, especially with the red lipstick.

“I am. And you look stunning. That top is new. Trying to impress someone?”

She raised an eyebrow, obviously trying to look intimidating. That didn’t work with Grantaire. He just stared back until she rolled her eyes and grinned (a little self-consciously).

“Well, you know. I know. No need to talk about that.”

“Ép. You did worse. And a handsome, intelligent man is just about the minimum I will allow.”

“I said: No need to talk about that.”

Grantaire shrugged and turned to his clothes again and tried staring them down until some pieces would offer themselves.

“Oh god. Just take your nice dark blue Levi’s and a white shirt. First two buttons open.”

He never loved her more.

When they arrived at Jehan’s place, there were balloon animals next to the doorbells. A giraffe, an elephant, and a duck. Grantaire did not know that you could form a duck out of balloons.

“Wait, is Enjolras 5 years old?” Éponine asked amused and hit the bell.

The door buzzed and they walked up to the second floor. The door was open and loud music was playing, and Grantaire snorted when he realised which song was playing.

“No, apparently he is 22”

Courfeyrac appeared, hugged them and managed to throw confetti in the air while doing so.

“Hey, come in! There is a ton of food in the kitchen. Cold drinks are in the tub. And the disposable cameras are strategically placed.”

“Disposable cameras? Very retro.” Grantaire laughed and shook his head to get rid of most (some) of the confetti.

“Every good party needs them, R! They capture the grandeur of the night.”

With that he disappeared into the living room. They followed him and greeted all the people by shouting hello’s all around. Bossuet came over to hug them and almost crashed down because he stumbled over Bahorel who was lying on the floor doing push ups while Marius, another colleague of Courfeyrac, was sitting on his back looking a bit afraid. Grantaire caught Bossuet and Éponine slipped away to the waving Jehan on the other side of the room.

He scanned the room, but Enjolras wasn’t there. He wandered to the kitchen and found Combeferre, who was putting pretzels into the oven.

“Hello R, I see, you got the welcome confetti treatment, too.”

“Well, no confetti, no party. But where is the object of the whole partying?” He hoped he sounded casual and not like he wanted the answer to be ‘back in Brussels’.

“He will be here in half an hour. Courf tried to make this a surprise but it’s more like an open secret. Enjolras will pretend he is surprised and it will be just as good.” He pushed his glassed up his nose and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Ah, I see. Are we supposed to hide behind the couch?”

“I think that won’t be necessary. The balloon animals are a bit too obvious.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about those…”

“Joly makes them. He always carries some in his pockets to make and give to kids at the hospital.” A smile played around his lips and Grantaire was once more convinced that Joly was the kindest human on earth. He said so and Combeferre nodded his agreement. Then he straightened and his smile widened. R turned around and saw Éponine coming into the kitchen.

“Okay, Jehan said there are pizza buns here. I need one right now because I think Courf is already preparing shots. Hey, Combeferre.”

She smiled at him, spotted the plate with the pizza buns, took one and disappeared again. ‘Smooth’, thought Grantaire and tried not to grin.

“Well, I think I’ll take one as well. Do you need help with anything?”

Combeferre shook his head and both of them went to the living room, where they join a heated debate about the best party game. Feuilly tried to make a point for Activity but was shouted down by Courfeyrac who said that Charade was the answer to everything.

“Bullshit, everyone knows that Twister is the game to end all party games”, said Grantaire and was boo-ed as well as cheered on. That debate went on for a few minutes and then Courf handed around the first round of shots.

“No party with out Mexikaner!” he shouted (at which Marius started to wonder if it was okay to call a drink a name like that and if it was discriminating and about the pro and cons of drinks but was stopped when Cosette threw a handful of confetti at him).

Grantaire caught Éponine’s eyes when Courf shoved a shot glass into his hand but shrugged and tried to wink. He knew that she worried but one drink wouldn’t kill him and he intended to switch to coke and non-alcoholic beer after this. You cannot refuse everything, otherwise you’d be the buzz kill and he really did not want that.

After everyone had their drink, Courf raised his:

“My friends, I drink to you! To a beautiful night. Let’s make this a good one so we remember it even with an enormous hangover tomorrow. Cheers!”

“Hear hear”, shouted Bossuet and spilled half his drink while laughing and drinking at the same time.

After that, Grantaire walked to the bathroom to get a beer from the tub.

“Damn, that is impressive.”  
He was standing in front of a bathtub that look like it belonged into a French castle in the Loire Valley. Black on the outside and with enormous claw feet in shining gold.

“I found it on a flea market and thought it would give this room a nice vibe”, explained Jehan who suddenly appeared next to Grantaire.

“Well, it certainly does. The picture with a skeleton showering fits as well…”

Said picture hung above the tub and showed a skeleton under a shower, rubbing shampoo on its very hair-less skull.

“Nice, isn’t it? Courf gave it to me on our one-year anniversary.”

“Lovely.”

“Come on, Enjolras will be here any minute.”

With a tingly feeling in his stomach he followed Jehan into the living room where everyone was gathering. Courfeyrac turned the volume of the music down and made a dramatic shhh-gesture and then disappeared to the door.

Bossuet started to have a giggling fit and Musichetta tried to stifle it with her hand which only made it worse. Bahorel raised an enormous sign which read “WELCOME BACK” and Grantaire though he saw Feuilly holding a confetti canon.

Then the doorbell rang, and he tried to hide behind Cosette, but she as so tiny that he edged nearer to Bahorel and hoped, he would not be noticed right away. But that fear was unwarranted because the moment Courfeyrac lead Enjolras into the living room, chaos erupted. Confetti everywhere. Shouts. Hugs. The music started blasting again. And a group hug that looked like Enjolras was in danger of suffocating.

It was like they saw him for the first time since he went to Brussels four months ago, but actually they had all met at Joly’s last week, already. Grantaire couldn’t help but smile because of the love that those friends had for each other.

From the corner of his eyes he saw Combeferre introduce Éponine to Enjolras. She was perfectly nice, but R could see the scrutinizing look in her eyes and the quiet glance in his direction.

He didn’t know how he was feeling. The moment Enjolras stepped into the room, his heart skipped a beat and his lungs seemed to contract. Enjolras looked beautiful. That first glimpse of him on the stairs last week was no false impression. Tall, lean, with those dark blue eyes. More beautiful than in school when there was still that teenage roughness. But now…Grantaire thought that he never saw a more handsome human being. And he was a ballet dancer, he was surrounded by beautiful people on a daily basis.

But something was different, of course. There was no scorn in Enjolras eyes, no grim expression on his face - because he was with his friends. Friends he loved, and not confronted with a fifteen-year old who mocked everything he said.

Grantaire took a swing from the bottle and swallowed hard.

‘He’s not fifteen anymore, I am not fifteen anymore (thank god!). We changed. Maybe he won’t know who I am. Be calm, be cool. You can do it.’ His mental pep talk wasn’t really working, but at least, he didn’t feel as panic-y as he thought he might.

He was shortly distracted by Bahorel who was carrying Jehan on his shoulders, who was throwing even more confetti (where was all that confetti coming from?). He stepped back to make space for them and then he moved towards where Enjolras was talking with Combeferre and Éponine.

‘Like a band-air. Just rip it off, the faster the better. Just jump, the more hesitant the greater the danger of injury. Let’s do this’, he thought.

‘Oh, well, no. Fuck it.’ was the next thought, he took a sharp turn and went into the kitchen.

“Hey, you ok?”, asked Joly who was sitting on the only free space of the counter, eating a pretzel and already swaying a bit.

“Yeah, just a bit crowded in there. I, um, thought I get a pretzel.” And so he had to grab one and took a bite but wasn’t really able to chew it because his moth felt very dry.

Joly looked at him but, apparently, Grantaire was able to pull a perfectly neutral face. Joly shrugged and dipped his pretzel into Tzatziki.

“Uh, that looks like one weird flavour combination”

“No, it’s perfect! The saltiness from the pretzel, the garlic-y smoothness of the Tzatziki. Just try it my friend. But be warned, there is a lot of garlic.”

“Well, it’s not as if I wanted to hook up with someone tonight, so I can go wild on the heavy smelling foods.” Grantaire shovelled a good amount of dip on the pretzel. It was surprisingly good. And then the garlic hit.

“Oh God wow. No. Yes. Ok. How much garlic is in there?!” he spluttered.

Joly laughed so hard, he almost fell of the counter.

“A whole head. I told Bossuet to take a clove, but he made an honest mistake. We thought we bring it anyway to see if someone was stupid enough to eat it.” There were tears in his eyes.

“You fucker!” Grantaire downed half the bottle of his alc-free beer, while flipping Joly off.

That made Joly laugh even more.

“Pray tell, why is my boyfriend a fucker? I mean, yes, but why right now?” Bossuet was standing in the door to the kitchen, amused look on his face.

“First of all, I don’t want to know that. Second of all, do you try to poison us with all the garlic, Bossuet?”

The only answer Grantaire got, was even more laughter from both Joly and Bossuet.

He left the kitchen to get another drink. Enjolras was in the living room, talking with Jehan. When he came out of the bathroom with a new beer (and after rinsing his mouth, thank you Bossuet) he walked to the couch where Cosette was sitting. That was the moment Enjolras turned around and suddenly they were standing face to face in the middle of the living room.

“Hey, I am Enjolras. Nice to finally meet you, I heard quite a lot about you from Courf and Combeferre.”

He had his hand reached out and Grantaire had to physically force himself to shake it (quickly, it felt like touching flames). His heart rate reached a point only achieved after the most demanding dancing parts.

“Hello. ‘m Grantaire. But I guess you knew that, then.”

(‘Wow, why so eloquent, Grantaire’ he thought).

“Yes.”

Silence.

(‘Oh god Lord, say something.’)

“So back from Brussels. How was saving the world from inside a very ponderous institution?”

(‘No shit, Grantaire, make easy small talk, will you?’)

Enjolras eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. Grantaire tried not to look away, tried to look away. Impossible. Suddenly, he felt like he was fifteen once again.

“It was very interesting, actually. I saw a lot of potential and the good will of people in charge. I don’t think a mocking tone is appropriate,” Enjolras sounded convinced by what he said but also a little cautious, as if he wasn’t sure yet what tone to use with Grantaire.

“Ah yes, so Combeferre didn’t mention that a mocking tone is how I respond to most things. But good to hear that you learned about good will at your internship and not just coffee making.” Grantaire wanted to stop, but he wanted to stop when he was fifteen, too. It had never worked. Why should it now?

Enjolras took a step back and looked at him, head to toe and up again. Then he smiled a bit. (Grantaire’s stomach did something funny at that. A little Entrechat, maybe).

“No, Combeferre mentioned something like that. About you having fun debating topics while taking an unconventional point of view.”

Now, that was new. Grantaire blinked at him.

“I should put that on my business card.”

At that, Enjolras laughed. He god damn laughed. That was new, too. His stomach tried that Entrechat again.

“Courf said you’re a dancer?”

“Um, yes. I dance at the town’s ballet company. With Éponine.”

“That sounds interesting. I don’t know the first thing about ballet, tough. I think I once saw the Nutcracker in Elementary School.”

“Well, that’s the first ballet most people see. The group wanted to come and see a show this fall. So maybe you can expand your knowledge, then.”

‘Ok, Grantaire, did you just invite him to come and see you dance? Are you out of your mind?’ he thought and tried to look casual.

“Sure. What’s on?” Enjolras genuinely looked interested, like he was sorry he never saw a ballet before. Grantaire didn’t know what to make of that.

“We have different ballets in the program. But I will dance a lead in Romeo and Juliet, so they decided to come to that one.”

“You’re Romeo?” Enjolras looked…well, Grantaire wasn’t sure. Surprised? Shocked? Doubtful? Turned on? (No wait, that would have been his imagination.)

“God, no. I’m not Romeo material. I’ll be Tybalt.”

“Hey! You are finest Romeo material, Sir!”, shouted Courf, who was now sitting on the couch. Grantaire hadn’t noticed him being there.

He took a bow in his direction.

“Why, thank you, Monsieur. But where’s my Juliet, then?” He was glad this strange conversation with Enjolras now included another person and non-sense talking, because that was a field he was comfortable in.

“Ah, R. Your Juliet will be here soon. Look at you, such a nice ass cannot go unnoticed.”

Grantaire turned a tiny bit pink at that and a lot redder when he heard Éponine shout from the other side of the room:

“Why are you talking about a Juliet. That man needs a Benedikt to his Beatrice!”

He shot her a look but she just stuck her tongue out.

“Thank you, Ép. I just thought I stay in the analogy. Trying to not play into the whole ‘stereotype-gay-ballet-dancer-thing’ too much.”

He never pretended to be straight with his friends, but he never actually talked about his sexuality, either. That was another positive thing about his bunch of people: they just let you be you. No questions asked. 

“Well, babe, that “Not-A-Stereotype-Gay-Ballet-Dancer” ship sailed the time you had a fifteen-minute monologue about _that_ Colin Firth scene in Pride & Prejudice”, said Courfeyrac gleefully.

Half an hour late, Grantaire found himself sandwiched between Joly and Éponine, while Jehan told about some obscure trip to the graveyard he had made recently, at night. Why, nobody knew.

He was barely listening because he thought about what had happened in the last hour. He met Enjolras again. He did not have a panic attack. Sure, the first thing he did was insult what Enjolras had been doing for the last few month. But to his immense surprise, Enjolras had taken it with humour. Like he wanted to make sure Grantaire knew he didn’t share that sentiment, but that he didn’t want to fight about it with an almost stranger. It was like a testing of the waters. He was sure that there was the same passion, the same fire inside Enjolras that he knew from school. Only that now he was able to control it. And to take a joke?

Grantaire realised, that he didn’t know Enjolras at all. He himself had changed in all those years between then and now. Why shouldn’t Enjolras change, too?

Obviously, he hadn’t recognized him. Saw no connection between Grantaire and that angry, loud, and often drunk kid at school. Grantaire took a careful breath. He felt relief, because now his fear of having to leave all his new friends was gone. He could still be their friend, and maybe, maybe, he could become friends with Enjolras.

The chance of a new start.

He took a quick glance in the direction of where Enjolras was sitting with Courfeyrac and Combeferre. He was talking, animated, his hands in the air, and passion in his eyes. Suddenly, he felt Éponine’s elbow and she murmured:

“Let’s get some fresh air.”

She stood and walked to the balcony. Grantaire followed with a small smile to apologize to Jehan for leaving during the story, but the poet was distracted by the others hanging on his lips (“…and then I walked into the crypt and…”).

Outside, Éponine was standing with her face to the starry night sky. Her hands loosely on the railing of the balcony. Grantaire stood silently by her side, he knew that she was about to say something.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”, she finally asked.

“I am standing on Courf’s balcony with you.”

“Idiot. I mean, are you sure you want to continue pretending you and he don’t know each other? That could end in a weird and potentially bad situation.”

Grantaire was silent for a while. He could just say ‘Yes, I’m sure’ but Éponine deserved a better answer than that.

“Honestly? I don’t know. But I guess as long as he doesn’t recognise me and as long as I’m not an asshole…”, he shrugged. He really wasn’t sure what this whole situation was or what the right course of action would be.

Éponine was looking at him, searching his face but he stared ahead into the sky.

“Alright. Just be careful.”

He hummed in responds and put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head. Then she boxed him in the biceps and he laughed.

“So. How’s the red lip working?”

“Right, I’m done talking to you”, she huffed and walked away, followed by his laughter.

Grantaire stayed on the balcony, the cool September night air a nice change to the warm, stuffy heat inside. He contemplated everything that happened the last few months, the things that brought him onto this balcony. A broken toe, a coffee shop visit at the right time, a bunch of crazy people who accepted him, a pair of blue eyes.

“What are you doing?”, a soft voice asked.

Grantaire turned and saw Jehan next to him, he hadn’t heard him, again.

“Contemplating.”

“Ah.” Jehan, his elbows on the railing, put his chin in his hands and looked ahead.

“Nothing dark, I hope?”

“Neither murder nor despair”, Grantaire said with a smile.

“Good. Sometimes the happiest of parties brings you to those corners of the mind that are filled with dark thoughts and unhappy memories. Maybe it’s the endorphin overload or something. Too much positive turned into negative.”

Grantaire stared at him. Jehan shot him a quick smile.

“No worries. I talk out of experience but nothing recent. A poet needs to know all the sides to life, you know. And you just looked a bit gloomy.”

Grantaire shook his head a bit and watched a man pass the building in the street down below.

“I just thought how I ended up here. With you all. What good can come out of a broken toe.”

Jehan smiled a very wide smile, his eyes full of light.

“Yes! We are all very happy that you broke your toe. Maybe it was a way of some higher power to bring you and Éponine to us?”

“Ahh, I don’t believe in stuff like that.”  
They stood in silence, a comfortable silence. But he had a feeling like Jehan knew that there was something else. After a few minutes Grantaire said softly:

“You know, recently, I was reminded of my past life. Not as in ‘My past life as a French revolutionary’ or something. But of my youth, school. It was not a happy time. It was awful. And when I think back, I realise how good it is to have friends. A feeling I needed back then and didn’t know…”

“R, what ever was back then – it’s over. You have us, all of us, now. We are your friends, your family.”

Grantaire couldn’t respond to that, he only nodded. Jehan gave him a quick hug and walked towards the balcony door, but turned once more:

“I have a past life. I used to be a druid in pagan England.”

It was almost midnight when Courfeyrac declared that they should play a game. The same discussion about The Best game stared once more and they decided by drawing lots. Twister won. Grantaire saw his opportunity to shine, and so he declared:

“This is my opportunity to shine!”

“Fuck off, R! I have to inform you, that I am Queen of Twister” Éponine shouted and started to do warm-ups.

Courf, Grantaire, Feuilly and Éponine took their positions on the four sides of the playing field. Marius had the important task to spin the hand. He looked a bit flustered because Cosette was sitting very close and gleefully announced the instructions.

“Left hand on green”

“Right foot on blue”

“Left foot! Yellow!”

It wasn’t before too long that they were swearing and touching in very unusual places and already almost toppled over, because:

“Feuilly, I swear to the Gods, don’t you dare tickle me.”

“Hey man, I did nothing, that was Courf”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Shortly after, Éponine’s leg was over Grantaire’s chest (her weight on him, thanks) and his hand directly under Feuilly’s ass, then Cosette declared:

“Put your left feet on red, please,” and then laughed a frankly mischievous laugh.

The knot of people on the plastic matt groaned and laughed at the same time. Éponine’s leg disappeared from Grantaire’s chest, Courf made a suppressed squealing noise and somehow managed to turn on his right foot with both his arms behind his back to place his left foot on the nearest red dot. Feuilly was in no better position. And now the only red spot left was that at the other end of the field and Grantaire was not sure how to reach it.

“Come on, R! Be a bit flexible, would you!” hissed Éponine. She was between him and the red. There was only one way.

“Ép, lower, please.”

She looked like murder but lowered herself as far as possible without touching the ground with her hip. And then Grantaire turned on his hands, tugged his right foot to a better angle. Then he took a deep breath and pushed himself up. He stretched his arms, his back to the floor, the left foot in the air and build a bridge over Éponine. His foot reached the red just enough, with the big toe. Now he was looking at the room upside down.

“Ok. That’s impressive”, said Bahorel in a very calm voice. Bossuet took a photo with one of the disposable cameras that had appeared at various (more or less compromising) moments that evening.

Grantaire grinned and then stopped when he saw Enjolras who was staring at him.

He could feel his shirt riding up his stomach and his back and toe starting to hurt.

“Marius, could you please, please spin that hand? As much as I enjoy impressing you all, this is not comfy.”

“Um, sure.”

“Left hand, blue”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

And with that, first Courf and then Feuilly toppled down and they pulled Éponine and Grantaire with them. They were a huge pile of laughing humans at that point.

“But who won?” was Marius very legitimate question.

“I would say Grantaire for that move. But have you seen how Feuilly managed to not get knotted up somehow? That’s Twister talent”, said Bahorel, which earned him the accusation of being biased.

Grantaire laughed and went to grab another drink from the tub.

He returned to find Enjolras in the kitchen, looking suspiciously at the Tzatziki.

“Don’t eat that, Bossuet made it.” Grantaire said.

“Ah, well that explains why it’s the last thing that’s still almost untouched.” Enjolras said dryly and took some Tortilla chips with salsa.

Grantaire tried to come up with something to say, running a nervous hand through his curls.

“Um, you live with Combeferre, right?”

“Yes. We live together since we started Uni. It’s good to be back.” He said that with a fond smile and looked past Grantaire to the people in the living room. Then his gaze shifted and he looked at Grantaire. Their eyes met and a little frown appeared on Enjolras forehead.

“You know, you kind of remind me of someone.”

Oh shit shit shit shit shit shit shit fuck. Grantaire felt his hands starting to sweat.

“But I cannot pinpoint, who. Funny, don’t you think? That sometimes people remind you of someone or just a face in a crowd you think you’ve seen just last week in the supermarket?”

Grantaire relaxed, a bit. He took a breath and tried to smile.

“Yeah, a bit déjà-vu like. So, you work as a lawyer like Courf?” (‘Smooth and subtle change of topic, R.’)

“Yes! Well, we work at a firm and I’m finishing my Phd at the moment, that’s why I was in Brussels. You have to know the system to change it. The laws that are made and how to make them better. I really believe that we can do that.”

Grantaire admired him for that fervour, that passion. And yet he couldn’t agree, not whole‑heartedly.

“Well, a noble cause but a task like Sisyphus’.”

“We don’t think so. I don’t think that. We sometimes meet and discuss topics we think we can change in this city. Organise protests, do educational work. Maybe you can come, too, and we can convince you that it is not a futile work.”

He had spoken in a low, even voice and still Grantaire could feel the passion in every work, the belief. And it was so close to the Enjolras form back then, the glimmer of something bigger in the man’s eyes. He knew he should not say yes, should stay away. Keep politics out of this, and yet…

“Yeah, why not. Let’s see if you can convert a cynic.” And then he left the kitchen because he couldn’t stand the piercing look form Enjolras eyes any longer.

On their way home, Éponine put her arm through Grantaire’s.

“It was a good night, wasn’t it?”

“No. I could have won at Twister if you hadn’t pulled me down with you.”

“Idiot”

“Yeah, it was nice.”

“Did you talk with Enjolras again?”

“Yes, he invited me to a World Improvement Justice meeting of the group.”

“Oh god. Please say you said no?”

“Um…”

“Okay. Well, tonight was good, so maybe it will work out.”

“Hm.”

They walked. The damp, cold air around them felt clean, with a hint of autumn in it.

“Combeferre said I looked good and that he liked my shirt. Then he started a rant about compliments and the pro and cons of them and that I should wear what I want to and not because someone complimented me. It was adorable.”

“Was that before or after Twister?” Grantaire asked with an innocent look on his face.

“Before. Why?”

“Ah, well, after he probably liked it even more.”

“WHAT?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't know if Mexikaner is a german thing or not (rumor has it they were invented in the shabbiest dive bars at the Reeperbahn in Hamburg): they are shots, invented to use the last drops of every alcohol you have (high-end stuff is made with vodka or korn), mixed together with tomato juice and a very, very generous amount of tabasco. It's basically the mean little sister of a Bloody Mary. And your regeret them in the morning. I have no idea why they are called Mexikaner but Marius is probably right to question the name. 
> 
> Next on: a shirtless Grantaire and the one cartoon charater every 90s kid had a crush on


	4. Foxes and Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R goes for a run and meets Enjolras naked in the hallway

The next day, Éponine and Grantaire had a slow Sunday. They slept long and got croissants from the bakery. The season would start soon and then it would be hectic until, well until the end of the season, really. They had four to five shows each week and a little tour in January. The days would be filled with practice and shows. It was literally the calm before the storm. But nevertheless, after they watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame on telly, Grantaire decided to go for a run, his body and mind felt like they needed the extra exercise today. Éponine looked pensive but didn’t say anything when he put on his running shoes.

He took the route down to the river - he liked to be close to moving water. The sun was shining but it wasn’t as warm as the last weeks and he enjoyed the movement of his body, the wind in his face. The downside of the route next to the river was that he either had to turn around and take the same way back. Or he could turn right and run through the neighbourhood until he reached a little park and from there he would return to his flat. That was the nicer route. But it also meant, that he had to climb the one hill this city had to offer. And that meant a lot of steps and steep streets. He took path No. 2. He hated himself for it while he panted heavily on his way up but after he felt like he had achieved a small victory. Also: his mind was too busy protesting his decision to take this way to be able to concentrate on other things. Enjolras, for example.

During the first part of the run he had thought about him. His way of talking, the intensity of his voice. The blue of his eyes that wasn’t just blue. But it was a dark blue with hints of light blue and white. He thought about the invitation. The second sentence they exchanged, Grantaire had mocked what Enjolras was doing. And yet Enjolras did not turn away, he talked to him. He invited him to those meetings nonetheless. He said, Grantaire reminded him of someone. Shit shit shit shit.

Whenever his mind wandered back to that moment, his feet took up speed. He reminded him of someone. He reminded him of Grantaire. Did he seem repelled by the faint memory of that someone (of him, his mind kindly offered)? No. Yes? He ran faster.

The hill pushed all those thoughts back. Good.

At the top, he stopped for a moment. Sweat made his shirt stick to him, his breath was ragged. He concentrated on that. Breath in, breath out. In, out, in, out, in, out.

The traffic light changed to green and he crossed the street to enter the little park. His steps were slower now, his breath even if fast.

No, Enjolras did not see him as fifteen-year old Grantaire. He saw him as 26-year old Grantaire, this Grantaire. Good, maybe he could work with that.

When he reached the street he and Éponine lived in, he took up speed and did a little sprint. It was always the hardest bit of the run, but the one that gave him the boost in strength and stamina. The hardest training sessions are often the most rewarding. But those were thoughts for later, now he arrived at his door and was just swearing at himself and the world and was happy that the run was over.

He opened the door to the flat and froze. In his hallway stood Combeferre and Enjolras.

Grantaire ran a hand through his hair and over his face to wipe off some of the sweat.

“Hello, what are you two doing here?” he said through (embarrassingly heavy) breathing.

“They are here because you, dumb head, forgot your jacket at Jehan’s yesterday and Ferre took it home to return to you.”

“Ah” Grantaire suddenly realised that his shirt stuck to every centimetre of his torso. He wasn’t that self-conscious, normally. He was a dancer for god’s sake, showing his body was part of his job. But not if two very blue eyes look at you like that.

“Yes, I knew it was yours and we live closer than Jehan and I thought you might want it back soon.” Combeferre explained, calmly. But a little twitch of the corner of Enjolras’ mouth told Grantaire a very different story.

“Ah”, said Grantaire again, grinning, “Thank you! Do you want to keep standing there or would you like something to drink? We have an awesome tea collection.”

He did this for Éponine, surely. He wanted them to stay for Éponine’s sake, promise.

Éponine shot him a glance but he pretended he didn’t see that.

“That would be nice”, said Enjolras.

“Ok. Éponine’s in charge. I have to shower.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” That pet name never meant good, so Grantaire disappeared into the bathroom. In there he allowed himself the indulgence of hitting his head against the wall once.

On the last part of the run he had decided that he would make no assumptions about Enjolras, would be all natural around him, with no expectations and zero overinterpretations. After all, he didn’t know the man, right?

And now Enjolras was standing in his flat in jeans and a soft-looking red jumper, with his god-like face and stuff, and Grantaire couldn’t help but think that he was the most perfect human being he had ever seen.

‘Good God, get a grip man.’

He stripped of the t-shirt and shorts and took a quick shower, determinedly not thinking about Enjolras in the next room.

‘Pathetic, R. Really.’

He stepped out of the shower, towelled himself dry, tried to comb his curls, turned around and froze. He forgot to take clothes with him. Normally, he would just quickly hop into his room, Éponine had seen him naked, she didn’t care. But his room is directly opposite their small living room. The living room containing Combeferre and Enjolras. Well, what was that about dancers and their naked bodies?

He wrapped the towel around his hips, threw the dirty clothes in the laundry basket and opened the door. He had every intention to run those four steps to his room as quietly as he could and to disappear. It would have worked but as we know the Universe (or fate, god, etc.) had decided to meddle with these two, and this was a situation just too perfect to go to waste. So, the exact moment Grantaire opened the door of the bathroom (to quietly, smoothly disappear into his room), Enjolras stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway, a box of cookies in his hands. He looked up and stared at Grantaire and Grantaire stared back.

“Um” Grantaire never thought Enjolras would ever say um, but here you go.

“I forgot my clothes.”

“Obviously”

‘This is the cue to start walking’, Grantaire thought, and yet his legs, tools of his livelihood, disobeyed. But Enjolras didn’t move, either.

“Um,” he said again, “Éponine said you probably would like to have cookies with the tea. So I got them from the kitchen.” Then Enjolras seemed to shake himself, smiled at Grantaire and started to move again. “Don’t take too long or there won’t be any cookies left.”

“O-kay” Grantaire tried to grin and started to move into the direction of his room, which – as is the way hallways function – brought him closer to his room as to the living room as well and that meant to Enjolras. They passed in close proximity, Grantaire entered his room, closed the door and fell face forward onto his bed.

“Fuck” he said, with feeling.

* * *

That afternoon, Enjolras and Combeferre stayed for an hour. They talked about nothing in particular. Combeferre told them about interesting stuff that happened at the hospital and then Grantaire and Éponine explained the shows for the season. Or rather, after Combeferre asked about it Éponine explained with a few comments by Grantaire. Enjolras asked a few questions but mainly he listened.

“Did you always wanted to be a dancer?” Grantaire, who was nibbling on a cookie was surprised when he realised that Enjolars was talking to him.

“Well, no. As a kid I wanted to be a pirate because the sword fighting looked cool.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Piracy isn’t what is used to be and actually there is a good deal of duelling on the stage, too. Two flies one stone, you know.” Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras watched him attentively. Grantaire realised that that was the way Enjolras talked to people: if he was interested, he gave you his whole attention.

“I can imagine that it takes a lot of determination and focus to be as good as you are.” It was as if he wanted to make this hard of Grantaire. It wasn’t as if determination and focus weren’t things that he had and had to have in order to be where he was today. But Grantaire would never say that out loud, he would never use words like that about himself.

“I would rather call it passion. In every sense of the word. And, to be fair, you’ve never seen me dance, so…” He gave a grin that was a good part self-deprecating. And he knew that Ép would have given him a slap around the head if she would have heard but she was busy talking to Ferre.

“Well, I don’t need to. Everyone told me so and you’re dancing a lead.” He sounded almost indignant, as if he knew more about Grantaire than those things he learned in the last 24 hours. Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should be amused by that or irritated by the apparent need of Enjolras to see the good in him.

He cleared his throat: “Speaking of passion. Did you always knew you wanted to save the world?”

“Yes.”

Of course, Grantaire thought, for him it really is that easy. After all, even in school it was obvious. How can one human being contain that much, well, passion?

“I was one of those kids that always asked questions. I wanted to know how things worked, why things were the way they are. And then I realised that there was so much I disliked. People not being able to live a good life. I wanted to help. To help this society meet its potential. I cannot see injustice and remain quiet. I physically cannot. So, yes. It’s a passion in every sense of the word.”

Grantaire had the very surreal feeling of the room narrowing and everything focusing on Enjolras. Some kind of magnetism that pulled everything towards him.

“So you want to be Robin Hood?” Grantaire saw the little frown on Enjolras forehead that was oddly impeded by a half smile.

“I am no fan of stealing.”

“Of course not.”

“And yet, you always want to watch the movie on Disney nights.” Combeferre said with a sly grin.

“I like the message.”

“Ah quit lying, you fancy the fox!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As i said at the beginning, this is my first fic. Dialogue isn't that natural for me (yet?). Please forgive that and any mistakes.
> 
> Next on: A meeting, a fight, and a realization.


	5. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the voting age is discussed

The next day, they had a rehearsal for Romeo and Juliet. Prokofiev’s music always felt powerful. Grantaire loved the tension when Capulets and Montagues meet. He was in training gear, just tights and a t-shirt, but he could imagine himself in the black of Tybalt. He tried to put as much power and arrogance into the steps as he could. It was the change of character, in a very physical way, that was one of his favourite things about ballet. He could be more than himself, loose himself for some time. It was a good week. The premier would be in two weeks and he felt less and less nervous – which meant: still nervous but mixed with more and more excitement.

When Enjolras and Ferre had left, they invited them to their meeting on Friday and even though Éponine seemed hesitant they accepted.

Friday, after the training Éponine and Grantaire had about an hour to get from the practice rooms which were in the Ballet Academy to their flat and then to the Musain where the meeting should be. That would not do, so they decided to grab something to eat along the way and head straight to the bar. They arrived a little early but Marius and Cosette were already there and showed them the table in the back where they always sat. Grantaire went to the bar and ordered a big iced tea for himself and a Gin Tonic for Éponine (“I deserve that after being on pointe the whole fucking day”).

Slowly the others arrived. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were shortly followed by Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly. They all started talking about their week and Grantaire listened slightly disgusted to a story Joly was telling about a guy who had swallowed all the pawns of a chess game because he thought his opponent was cheating.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Enjolras arrived together. Grantaire had no idea what to expect. Was there a topic and everyone said something? Were there presentations? Combeferre looked like he was a big fan of Power Point Presentations. And even though he had no idea about the usual agenda, he was not surprised when Enjolras stood and opened the meeting.

“Thank you all for being here today. Welcome to Éponine and Grantaire who are here for the first time.”

Grantaire almost snorted at that because it did sound a bit pompous as there was no one around who didn’t know that this was there first time being there.

“Also this is the first meeting after my time in Brussels and I am very glad that I am back and we’re doing this again. I’ve seen and learned a lot of things in Brussels. A lot of good ideas are debated there and they are doing what they can to make them work. But I also realised – not for the first time – a problem that lies in the heart of our democratic system. The voting age. A lot of topics discussed are topics that concern the younger generations because they touch on urgent matters such as climate change, social injustice, gender inequality, and the economic status-quo. Statistics show that more older people go to vote than younger people, especially those in the age between 18 and 30. But it is their future the politicians are shaping right now. Movements such as Fridays for Future show that teenagers are not passive, they care. They want to change our society. They are educated, committed and passionate! Why not give them the opportunity to influence the direction of our government? Why deny them the right that every citizen should have? Why not lower the voting age to sixteen? They have a voice and I would like us to help them be heard!”

Grantaire couldn’t look anywhere but at Enjolras. He was speaking in a normal volume. but his voice carried. How could anyone not listen to him? Enjolras moved his hands while speaking, he looked at them all. His body was full of energy, a spark in his eyes. He tried to have eye contact with everyone like he felt he needed to convince them but Grantaire was sure that nobody on this table would deny him anything. All were convinced the moment he started speaking. Or, well…

“Do you really thing that the politicians in charge, most of them 50+, want to give kids a vote so they lose their comfortable advantage of having voters who are mostly off the same age and share the same views? They won’t do that.” Grantaire felt Éponine kicking his shin lightly under the table. He knew the others were looking at him, but he only had eyes for Enjolras who was watching him with a look of steel in his eyes. And, oh, did Grantaire knew that look, remembered it. Once, he lived for it.

“Some cities already changed their laws on a municipal level. It is possible. I believe that it is something a lot of society would be in favour of if we explained that we don’t want to take something away but give them the opportunity of participation.”

“Those youths you are talking about are not the majority. Not many teenagers are interested in politics, especially local politics.”

“I think the participation of children and teenagers in protests such as Fridays for Future paint a different picture,” Combeferre said, putting a calming hand on Enjolras elbow.

“But as you said the turnout during elections is low. Why do you think that people who don’t vote when they are 18, 20 or 24 would vote if they could do it at sixteen? It’s not the age that has to change, Enjolras, it’s the attitude. And you cannot change that.” Grantaire ignored Combeferre and just talked to Enjolras.

“Because I believe that the kids who are now turning 16 are more engaged in politics than ever before. I think if anyone at sixteen wants to vote, we should give them the chance to do so. And yes, we have to get the others to the polling stations, too. We have to show them that their voices matter. Voting is not just something you do once every few years. We have to make them understand that it is a duty and a privilege to be able to do it.” His voice was more cutting than before.

“Well, Apollo, that’s pure idealism. In my experience, most people don’t give a shit about duty. They just want to live their little lives and be unbothered by the government as long as they get the newest memes on the internet.”

Enjolras hand grabbed the edge of the table, his eyes narrowed. He was piercing Grantaire with his stare. Grantaire, on the other hand, went very still. Shit. What did he just say? How was it possible to fall back into old patterns after _ten_ years? He felt something hot spread inside his stomach: Fear? The knuckles on the hand round the glass turned white.

“What did you say?” Enjolras voice was a whisper.

The others looked at them, confused. It was apparent that something in the atmosphere had shifted.

“I,” Grantaire swallowed, “I said they don’t care.”

“No. You…” Enjolras studied his face, Grantaire thought he should probably look away, but he couldn’t. He could see the exact moment Enjolras recognized him. His eyes widened and then his expression changed, and it became hard, stony.

Grantaire wasn’t sure if he should say something, what he could say. He simply waited for the other man to make the next move, to set the tone for the way they were to talk about this. He heard Éponine say his name quietly, but he ignored her.

“I told you to not call me that.” Enjolras voice was cold as steel.

“Well, Sun King wasn’t to your liking either.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, _Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire put an emphasis on the name, “I am here because you invited me.”

“I did but, obviously, that was a mistake. You told me you don’t believe in change. I thought your mocking was your way of trying to be witty. But now I realise that it is your way of living. Apparently, your worldview has not changed in the last ten years. And my approach has not changed, either. You know that because we talked about it. Why pretend like you don’t know me? Like you didn’t know I was as honest about this as I was _ten years_ ago. Is this some kind of elaborate joke? Did you think “let’s revive good old times’? I ask you again, why are you here?

“What…,” Courfeyrac started to say but was silenced by a gesture of Enjolras.

Grantaire felt like someone had punched him in the solar plexus. What had he expected? Of course, Enjolras would react like this. Of course, to him it must feel like a sick kind of prank. Why wasn’t he able to keep his damn mouth shut?

“Again: I am here because you invited me. And because I wanted to see what my friends are doing during those meetings. I wanted to hear what you had to say about the things you care about.” That last bit was maybe a little too honest, but what the hell.

“Do you?” Enjolras tone was full of condescension, “You wanted to _hear_ what I say so you could turn everything into something negative? You did that back then and I have to say it feels just the same. You’d say anything as long as you get to say something. No matter if it is useful or accurate. And as I can see, your way of fuelling your thoughts has not changed.”

Grantaire saw Enjolras eyes land on the glass in his hand. He stood abruptly, pushing the glass away.

“Stop it!” Éponine was about to stand as well.

“No, Ép,” Grantaire laughed, bitterly, “stay. But I will give Apollo here the pleasure of leaving. I don’t think he can change society with someone around who doesn’t fit his image of the ideal citizen.”

He avoided the eyes of the others, turned, and left the Musain.

* * *

After the door closed behind Grantaire, a stunned silence remained. Everyone looked at Enjolras who was slowly opening his hands he had curled into fists. Combeferre made a movement with his head and opened his mouth but was interrupted by Éponine who stood abruptly.

“What is your fucking problem, Enjolras?” her voice trembled with anger, “You know nothing about him! You accuse him of mocking and yet you are just cruel. You want to discuss things but only allow your opinion? From what I heard from the others I would never have guessed but: you are a fucking hypocrite.”

With that she left the table to run after Grantaire. Enjolras looked stunned, an ugly expression on his beautiful face.

“Would you care to explain what this is all about?” Combeferre asked in a carefully calm voice.

“I…,” Enjolras was straightening his back, taking a defensive posture.

“At the party I thought Grantaire reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Only now I realised that we went to school together, for a few years. We fought because he would always ridicule the things I said in class. He was drunk most of the times. He was never serious. I never talked to him except for those moments. He dropped out of school, I guess, when we were sixteen. This exchange right now was basically a repeating of every conversation we had.”

The others were quiet but then Courfeyrac said:

“You were too harsh, Enjolras. You were mean.”

“I was angry! I still am. Obviously he recognised me. So why did he pretend like we don’t know each other? Why did he thought he could come here, get drunk and then disagree with everything?”

“He -,” Combeferre started to say but Joly interrupted him:

“He didn’t drink. That is iced tea in the glass. And I think that one shot at your Welcome-Party was the only time I ever saw him drink alcohol.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

“You know,” this time it was Jehan, “he told me about that time. Nothing specific. But he told me that he had a terrible youth and was very unhappy, back then. You said that you never talked to him, so even then you didn’t really know him, did you? Enjolras, would you, when you met someone from the unhappiest time of your life, remind him of that? Or would you want to try and have a new start?”

Jehan’s tone was not accusing, he spoke in a soft voice, but you could see the blood draining from Enjolras face. Like that explanation hit him like a slap in the face.

“I…” He looked at the faces of his friends, “…shit.”

All around they nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of drama. but, y'know, idiots being idiots and i am 100% certain Enjolras is (most of the times) the bigger idiot
> 
> Next on: more drama


	6. Surreal but nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which R fears, fights, and makes a new friend.

Grantaire was walking through the city, vaguely he was on his way back to his flat, but he didn’t pay attention to where he was going.

 _Why are you here? Is this a joke?_ He could hear Enjolras voice in his head. Like an echo chamber they whirled around and around. He felt fifteen again. Chastised by the same voice, looked at with disdain by the same eyes. He had felt that same pang of pain behind his ribs. He let out a laugh, joyless and bitter. What had he been doing there? Enjolras was right, how could he have thought that it would be better than in school? Enjolras was bright as the sun, burning for the cause. He himself was dark, without hope for humanity, only the feeling that one should duck their head and try to live the life they were given.

Grantaire was staring into the darkness of the evening and tried to make sense of all the things dancing around in his head when he heard Éponine behind him.

“R…,” her voice was soft, but he could hear the anger and concern. She pulled him into a tight hug and he buried his head in her hair, smelling the familiar scent of her shampoo.

“I think I fucked up. Big time,” he mumbled.

“NO!” she pushed him away so she could look him in the eyes, “don’t say that. Don’t think that! It’s not true. You didn’t fuck up, he did! You were making valid points. He is a fucking ass if he can’t take a counterargument. He had no right to talk to you like that!”

Her rage ebbed away when she saw the tears in the corner of his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t worry, it will be okay!”

“But,” he tried very hard not to cry right there, “now he hates me and the others probably think I’m some sort of cheat for not telling them. And what if they hate me for being like this to their friend? I don’t want to lose them, Ép.” He said the last words so quietly he wasn’t sure Éponine had heard them. It is always hard to admit the things you are most afraid of. And he was so afraid that what he had been worrying about would happen – that they wouldn’t want to be his friends anymore.

“Oh, honey! Don’t be an idiot! They know you are not who Enjolras thinks you are. Just because he’s apparently their leader or something doesn’t mean they do everything as he says and can’t think for themselves. Thank god, otherwise they would be very stupid. You cannot honestly think that they would stop being friends with you because of this?”  
Grantaire wasn’t able to meet her eye. He felt embarrassed and a tiny bit relieved but still hurt and uneasy.

“Come, let’s go home.”

When they arrived home, Grantaire checked his phone and found a few texts from Joly, Courfeyrac and Bahorel. In more of less strong words (and a pretty good insult by Bahorel) they told him not to worry about Enjolras and that they hoped he was okay.  
He went to bed with a lump in his throat and a weight upon his chest, even though it wasn’t as heavy as before.

* * *

He spent that Saturday at the practice rooms, doing his routine and the more complicated steps again and again and again. Then he took the rapier and fought against the air, ingraining every movement into his muscle memory. A stage fight was exciting to watch but it had to be minutely timed, otherwise you could hurt your partner.

Some directors gave the instruction that Tybalt should be drunk. That his actions, the killing of Mercutio and the fight with Romeo were the result of his inebriation and thoughtlessness. But Grantaire and the director, Maestro Le Gros, talked about it and the way Shakespeare had written Tybalt. They thought it would be more interesting – more dynamic and dramatic – if Tybalt knew exactly what he was doing. This sequence was no stumbling around with a sword and an almost accidental killing but a powerful and heated fight of two young men, blinded by hate.

(“It looks fucking awesome”, to quote Éponine.)

When he was physically unable to hold the weapon anymore, he took a very long shower. He had no real desire to go home and watch Éponine watch him. But he was hungry and a good nap would be very welcome, too.

* * *

He did not get the chance to take a nap.

When he arrived at his flat, he didn’t even get the chance to put the key in the lock because the door suddenly opened, and he stared at a very angry looking Éponine.

“Finally,” she hissed and pulled him inside.

“I didn’t do anything!” Grantaire wasn’t sure what he was defending himself for, but he felt the need to do so. He knew the look on Éponine’s face too well not to think it probable that he did anything or forgot something – it was a reflex.

“It’s not you,” she threw his stuff in a corner of the hallway and dragged him into the living room, “it’s him!”

And she pointed at Enjolras, who was sitting on the couch, looking very uncomfortable.

“Oh.” Grantaire felt like something very cold and very hot was dumped into his stomach at the same time. He wasn’t sure what to do or say and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to run away or sink through the floor. In the end, he just stared at Enjolras, unable to move.

“Hello Grantaire” Enjolras look like he was trying very hard to sound casual.

In the following silence Éponine made a grunting noise and disappeared into the kitchen. Grantaire tried to catch her arm to get her to stay but she dodged him.

“What are you doing here?” Grantaire asked and then winced when he realized that Enjolras had asked him the same question last night.

“I…” Enjolras looked like he remembered, too, and some colour appeared on his cheekbones, “I am here to apologise to you.”

That took Grantaire by surprise. He was here to do what?

“What?”

“I want to apologise because I was rude and assuming and wrong.” He said very quickly, his eyes not quiet meeting R’s. “Well, I was wrong about you, anyway. I am sorry I didn’t think before telling you off and suspecting that you were there to make fun of me. I was…um…self-centred.”

Grantaire went from a raised eyebrow to a very confused look on his face. He wasn’t sure he heard him right.

“I … what?” He never felt less eloquent in his whole life. “You’re apologising?”

It was more that he couldn’t believe Enjolras was saying sorry than feeling like the apology wasn’t enough.

“You don’t have to accept! Of course, I was harsh and unconsidered and, to quote Courf, a complete ass and well, I think I went down a bit of a spiral there, last night. Just the fact that I remembered that we went to school together and that you disagreed was enough to - I don’t know - fall back into past behaviour. In school I was always so irritated by what you said and never knew why you talked back so much. That’s no excuse, but maybe it explains my…extreme reaction.”

Enjolras had started talking faster and shuffled around on the spot he was sitting, his hand fiddled with the hem of his shirt and the colour on his face deepened.

“Wow, hey, catch a breath!” Grantaire took a careful step inside the living room when he realized that he was still standing in the doorway where Éponine had left him.

“I mean, thanks for the apology. But I am not sure you really have to. I mean, I can understand that it kind of looked like a dick move to you that I just showed up without telling you that we know each other. _I_ probably would have punched me.”

“No, don’t say that! You have every right to be angry. I hurt you and I…,” and now he was definitely blushing, “I’ve been told many times that I can be rude and act unconsidered. I don’t want to start this friendship with being an asshole. The others told me about you, you know? During calls with Ferre when I was still in Brussels, he told me about you and Éponine. And I thought you sounded so interesting and I was curious to meet you. And then I, well actually, I just snapped yesterday. And I am sorry.”

Grantaire had a very odd sensation when he heard the word ‘friendship’ coming from Enjolras with regards to him and when Enjolras continued he wondered if he had been catapulted into a parallel universe. He wanted to be friends? Even after yesterday? He had wanted to meet _him_?

“Hey, what are you doing!?”

“I am hitting my fist against my head to see if I am dreaming and to make me wake up.”

Enjolras stared at him.

“Well, you just said you want us to be friends! I never expected to hear those words from you. And honestly, after yesterday I thought I had lost all my friends because surely them must think I am a bastard for pretending to not know you and talking back to you and all. And now you are sitting on my couch, saying sorry and asking to be my friend like a fucking child in kindergarten. This is like 180 degree opposite from what I was expecting.”

He pulled his hand through his hair and couldn’t help a little maniac laugh. This conversation was a bloody rollercoaster. And he certainly didn’t know how to feel about all of it.

“You thought you would lose the guys because we knew each other in high school?” Enjolras whispered, staring at him with wide eyes. “I am so sorry!”

“Nah, it’s all right.”

“No. Listen, Grantaire, it’s not. And I want to do better. Let’s start all over. I won’t say ‘let’s pretend we never met before’ but, as Éponine and Jehan so rightfully pointed out yesterday, we didn’t really knew each other back then. So maybe we could leave the past to the past and just, start fresh?”  
There was a hopefulness in his voice that didn’t help with Grantaire’s confusion or his doubt about the realness of the whole situation.

“Yes, sure, let’s start fresh.”

(As if Grantaire had any chance to say otherwise.)

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Enjolras stood and took two steps towards Grantaire. Then he paused and, after a tiny moment of hesitation, stretched out his hand.

“Hi, I am Enjolras.”

Grantaire gaped at him but then he couldn’t help it, laughing, he took Enjolras hand: “No, you are ridiculous.”

Enjolras didn’t stay for much longer after, because he had work to do and the whole situation was still a bit awkward. And Grantaire had the suspicion that he was a tiny bit terrified of Éponine, who was looming in the kitchen and who wasn’t as forgiving as Grantaire.

Grantaire was quite relieved because he felt like he might just explode with this overload of feelings that have happened over the last thirty minutes. He felt like he needed to lie down and think and process for, like, three hours.

At the door, they said their awkward good-byes.

“Okay, I hope we’ll see each other around and, um, maybe next Friday you can come to the meeting?”

“Oh, sure. But, you know, I won’t hold back.”

“Well, I wouldn’t expect that,” Enjolras said with a small grin.

“Okay” Grantaire couldn’t help but smile back, “well, thanks for stopping by. It was a bit surreal, to be honest.”

“But nice?”

And before Grantaire could say something Enjolras was out of the door and running down the stairs. He turned around to see Éponine standing in the kitchen doorway. Her eyebrows almost disappearing in her hair.

“What?”

“Nothing…just, how do you two go from him hurling insults at you to flirting in, like, 5 seconds?”

“We weren’t flirting!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“No.”

“Yup.”

“No…”

“You are Hugh fucking Grant!”  
And with that she flipped him the finger and left him alone in the hallway, feeling very confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As i said before, Enjolras is an idiot but we all love him.  
> If you want to see a good production of Romeo&Juliet you can just look it up on YouTube. The royal danish company of Copenhagen has one up there and the Romeo is a cutie. They do the classic "Tybal is drunk and ooops! he stabbed Mercutio" thing. 
> 
> Next on: More awkward conversations


	7. About those school days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn more about Enjolras' feelings (and his love for Belgian waffles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took some time because a.) i have to find a job and need to focus on that and b.) i re-wrote parts of the dialog between R and Enjolras. I've received a very interesting, in-depth comment on my last chapter and some points of that analysis made me change some aspects of this chapter (Thank you Blitsie)

You may wonder, what the Universe (Fate, God, etc.) thought of all this. Well, if it is an entity that can giggle – it probably would. It would enjoy the drama and the bit of embarrassment in the interaction after. It would continue looking at our two little mortals – not quite comprehending the deep, confusing feelings both of them had.

* * *

‘It is funny,’ Grantaire thought, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, ‘how did I manage to have an almost normal conversation with him after all the hell I went through in the last weeks?’

It was a very good question. From a panic attack, to jittering nerves, to pretended calmness, to panic again, he had felt it all. And yet, here he was, feeling almost excited about the prospect of seeing him again. Enjolras had wanted to meet him, to become his friend just from what Combeferre had told him. That was a very new thing for Grantaire.

He never thought he was completely unlikable – especially since he started to feel more at ease with his life. But he never thought that people would want to specifically get to know him. He just went along with the acquaintances he made. Before, he only knew close friendship through Éponine. And now…

His heart made a little extra beat when he thought about his new friends, who – if he heard Enjolras right – had defended him a bit. He wasn’t really sure if that was true. Maybe Enjolras felt like he needed to ease his mind.

Wait, why would he feel the need to do that? Why had he been so disproportionately nice?

Grantaire had behaved like a dick to which Enjolras reacted very appropriately and then he just appeared and was understanding and all?

Suddenly, Grantaire felt bad. How was Enjolras feeling? Was he hurt? Or, and now that’s not a good thought, was he just so nice because he thought Grantaire was unstable and needed reassurance?

‘Is he just so friendly because he thinks I will fall back into alcoholism if he shows resentment?’

Now that that idea was in his head, Grantaire really wasn’t feeling that good anymore.

* * *

The next morning, he was sitting on the couch, a mug with coffee in hand, staring out of the window. When Éponine came into the living room, she sighed.

“R, don’t over analyse every word he said”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are. You had a glow-y look about you when Enjolras left yesterday but then you started to look more and more thoughtful. And today, all you do is mope.”

“I don’t.”

“R, please, talk to me.” She sat beside him on the sofa, legs under her and her side against a cushion so she could look at him.

Grantaire wasn’t sure how to phrase everything that went through his head. And he had the funny feeling, that not knowing how he was feeling was the theme of the week.

“I am thinking about how everyone reacted. You know, after…,” he trailed off.

“Okay. But they were all cool, right?”

“Yes…and that’s actually what I am thinking about. They were so nice. Quick to tell me that it was ok what I did. Nothing like: ‘Hey, why didn’t you tell? Not mad, just curious.’ They just went with it.”

He shrugged and instead of looking out of the window, he stared into his coffee.

“But that’s a good thing! They didn’t want to push you and upset you even more!”

“No! You don’t understand. I don’t want to be treated like a fragile person. I expected them to make some kind of comment on why I didn’t tell. They didn’t. And now I wonder…are they indifferent to me?”

Éponine looked at him with thoughtful eyes and took some time with her answer.

“Looking at it like that, I can understand why you think that. But I wouldn’t read to much into it. Look, they are the most emotionally-able bunch of people I ever met. Jehan has, like, antenna to feel a person’s emotions. And Joly can only ever see the good in people. Courfeyrac has a heart of gold and Ferre sees nuances in the interaction between people I think Sherlock Holmes couldn’t detect. I bet in that moment they all realised that you needed support. I thought you would have another panic attack, to be honest.”

“Hmm,” Grantaire was sure that she was right about most of that, at least the capability of their friends to read a situation. But…

“But isn’t it…I don’t know,” he actually wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with that sentence.

“I think they will ask questions, just not right away.” Éponine patted his knee.

“Okay.” The biggest question – and what about Enjolras? – he didn’t ask. That, he thought, was a question he should ask the man himself.

* * *

On Monday, he went to the coffee shop during lunch break. They’ve had training in the morning and in the afternoon, they would discuss choreography, timetables, understudies, and all the other stuff surrounding the ballet season.

A black coffee and a sandwich in front of him, he was sitting in a corner pretending to read a newspaper that was lying around but mostly just watching the other people in the room. He was wondering how to approach Enjolras about the whole thing.

How do you initiate such a conversation?

He felt like he couldn’t just walk to Enjolras flat, sit on his couch and talk about his feelings. Maybe he could talk with him after the meeting on Friday. It would be more casual, maybe.

Grantaire’s mind turned thoughts like that over and over when the subject of those thoughts walked into the coffee shop.

For a few seconds Grantaire wondered it maybe he could just slip under the table and Enjolras wouldn’t see him. But that was enough time for Enjolras to spot him.

He waved, smiled, and made some kind of gesture towards the counter, his wallet, and then Grantaire.

That probably meant, that he was ordering something and then sit with Grantaire.

Oh god.

‘Well, maybe now is actually a good time because when it becomes really, really awkward I can just run away.’

The last time he’d given himself a pep talk like that, he actually did run and hid in Jehan’s kitchen. Only there’s no kitchen now.

His stomach felt like he swallowed a whole anthill. But before he had time to work himself into a nervous fit, Enjolras was standing at his table.

“Hey. Can I join you?”

“Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat.

“Lunch break?” Enjolras was gesturing towards his half-eaten sandwich.

“Yes.”

What are words?

“You know, one thing I miss from the time in Brussels are the waffles. They were amazing. I would have had one every morning but then I wouldn’t have fitted into my suits at the end of the internship…The waffles here are just sad in comparison. But luckily they make good walnut muffins.”

Was Enjolras babbling or were waffles really something close to his heart? Grantaire wasn’t sure but it somehow calmed him a bit.

“We once did a show in Brussels but instead of the waffles I opted for the pommes frites. Next time I’ll try the waffles then. They sound promising.”

“Definitely do that,” Enjolras said and began to unwrap the muffin he had on a little plate, “I’ll will give you the address for the best café.”

“Okay,” Grantaire wasn’t sure how to change the topic. How do you go from waffles to talking about feelings and confrontations?

“Listen, Enjolras, I…”

But he was interrupted by the barista who called Enjolras’ name.

“Sorry, just a second.”

Grantaire took a deep breath and watched Enjolras practically jumping through the room to grab the cup that was standing on the counter and – just a little slower – make his way back to the table. He put the mug with some sort of coffee drink (it looked very sweet) in it onto the table and sat down again.

“You were saying?” His blue eyes were looking at him, a very fine line of worry between his eyebrows.

“Um, yes,” Grantaire tried to look at Enjolras but it was hard, looking at a point a bit to his right seemed easier, “Listen, I know we said we should start fresh and all but, I’m not sure we talked about this enough.”

“Oh.” A frown appeared on Enjolras forehead. “Why do you think that?”

“Because, look, it was really nice of you to apologize to me. But you made it sound like you were the only one to blame for the way we shouted at each other on Friday. I should say sorry, too. I was a coward. I thought you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me if you knew that I was that kid from school. I…I was thinking about how I would feel, how terrified I was the first time I saw you and made the – as I now realize probably irrational – assumption, that it would be better to play pretend. That you got angry the moment you recognized me is totally understandable.”

“Grantaire, you already said that on Saturday. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s really not! Why is it so easy for you to just say ‘we both reacted badly, let’s move on’? You were so angry on Friday! That cannot disappear just like that!”

Grantaire wasn’t sure he was expressing the point that was important to him right. Enjolras wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was slowly ripping apart the muffin paper.

“It did not, you are right. I was angry for the better part of Friday night.” He stopped and looked up. There was a tight twist around his mouth.

“And why do you think it is alright, then, to say that everything is good? I lied when we met, let’s not continue to lie.” 

The was a short pause. Enjolras was looking at him with a guarded look in his eyes. Grantaire couldn’t help himself, he suddenly felt very guilty. He wasn’t quite sure why.

“Please?”

“First I want to ask you something,” Enjolras leaned back, “Jehan said, you’ve told him that you weren’t happy during your teenage years. Was that when we were in school together?”

Grantaire hadn’t expected that. And honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to have an in-depth conversation about this. And yet, he knew that he had to answer for Enjolras to continue.

“Yeah, I was living with my father. He wasn’t awful per se, but we were never able to talk with each other and I had no one for, I don’t know, emotional support. You saw me in school. I was drunk, I was high, I didn’t know how to deal with pain, loss or any of the shit that went down. So, yes, I was unhappy.” He gave a hollow laugh, the standard reaction when he talked about that time.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t realized. Maybe I could have helped you…”

“Stop! Please, I was a fucking prick the whole time. I was only talking back to you because it was my - frankly disturbing - way to have fun. Making people miserable. You couldn’t have helped me. So please don’t, just…don’t.”

“Well, that explains it. A bit, at least. I asked that question because, back in school, you never made sense to me. Sometimes you made very good points and I thought maybe we could have a real discussion but then you would say something horrible. Like plain rude things, or even make very controversial, awful statements. And I never knew if those were your real opinions or not. And…” here Enjolras hesitated for a moment, “and a few times you actually said things that have hurt me very much. I mean, I was a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy. I liked to argue with the teachers because they were the ‘authority’, but I was still hoping for the other students to like me and I was trying to figure out who I was and how to walk through life. Some remarks you made really knocked me down.”

The paper was all shredded into pieces by then. Grantaire felt shame rise inside him and now he could place that guilty feeling: He had never considered Enjolras feelings. Even as an adult he had only thought about his own emotions but never really considered what it was doing to Enjolras, that he was faced with him again.

“Shit. I was a fucking asshole. I am very, very sorry, Enjolras.”

“When I realised who you are, at the meeting, all those memories came back. It was like I was standing next to fifteen-year-old me. And I became angry in the name of teenager me. I hated it, that I could feel like that again. And I was shocked that we had the same kind of conversation even though up until that one point the argument was purely on topic. First, it was almost fun and then it turned around and all I wanted was to shout you down like I did in school. I think that stupid nickname was a trigger. And now, because at school I never knew why you said those things or if you meant them or what was going on in your life, I wasn’t able to process why you wouldn’t tell me that we knew each other. I just didn’t know how to handle the situation.”

“But, Enjolras, those are very valid points, why didn’t you said so on Saturday? I never really understood what I was doing to you. Apparently, I was a bully, and I am sorry for that. But why come to apologizes and ignore all of your own feelings? That’s just not healthy. I can tell you how not healthy it is to ignore ones feelings.” Grantaire almost took Enjolras hands in an impulse to make him understand. Instead he put his own flat on the table, pushing on the tabletop to find an outlet for his emotions.

“I talked with Ferre about it. I explained the situation. I had a little rant about it all. He has this ability to calm you and validate your feelings while still putting things into perspective.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure what that meant but he had the nagging feeling that Enjolras wasn’t telling him everything. Maybe he needed to come clean and just be totally honest and then Enjolras could decide if he wanted to do the same.

Hell, what a Monday.

“Enjolras, listen,” he rubbed his hand over his face, sorting this mind, “when I was thirteen my mother died. She was the loving one at home and neither I nor my father knew how to deal with the loss. How to live without her. I did things to numb my feelings, to become someone else. It was a spiral. I was an asshole because that spared me from having to interact with people. My father didn’t care. The teachers gave up. I stopped dancing. I liked to get a reaction out of you because - I’m not quite sure how to say it - you seemed so alive? Burning with an opinion and passion. Now I know that it was gross. I should never have done that to you. I am sorry. I don’t know if the teachers noticed enough to tell you why I never came back for the last two school years. I bet some just thought I died so something. When I was seventeen, I started to realize that I had to stop, or I’d eventually die at twenty. I switched schools, started dancing again and had enough brain cells left to grab the rescue ladder when I got the opportunity to start dancing as a profession. And now I am here.”

He hadn’t been able to meet Enjolras eyes but now he forced himself to look at the man in front of him. His expression was that of confusion, horror, and sadness.

“If you think that you have to be nice to me, hold back or something, because otherwise I would crack and start shouting drunk insults at you again – don’t. I am too happy with where I am right now to allow that. So, if you only say you want to be friends because you feel like you are obliged or something. It’s fine, you don’t have to.”

That seemed to shake Enjolras.

“NO!” he practically shouted it, “No, I don’t. I mean, yes, maybe on a certain level, thoughts like that made me apologize without telling you how I felt about it all. Ferre and Joly hinted at you having self-esteem issues so I thought I shouldn’t be too harsh. So, yeah, maybe I wasn’t all honest. But I really want to be your friend.”

“Oh.”

A silence stretched out after that. Grantaire wasn’t sure what to say and Enjolras neither.

Just to do something with his hands, Grantaire took a sip of his coffee. It was cold.

He hoped Enjolras would start to speak again but he just looked at his fingers that were tied into a knot in his lap.

“No more lies and tip-toeing around topics, okay?” Grantaire tried to smile while he said that, but it was a bit loop-sided.

Enjolras looked up and gave a tentative smile back.

“Okay.”

They finished their food but Grantaire was actually quite happy that he had to hurry because his lunch break was almost over.

He felt better but a little sad at the same time because now his mind provided him with the bittersweet thoughts of ‘what if’s. What if he had handled his mother’s loss better and he had been more civil to Enjolras? Hell, what if his mother hadn’t died and he would have met Enjolras as the enthusiastic teen he had been before that awful day? Would they have been friends?

He banished those thoughts from his mind when he entered the meeting room and was distracted by talks about ballet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am very bad at communication my feelings so shout out to R and E for being able to talk about stuff like this. We should all start to talk about our feelings more. Feelings are good. As good as the waffles in Brussels.
> 
> Next on: a waffle, a disney movie night, and snippets of a newly formed friendship


	8. Fall(ing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the premier is as good as lasagne and Enjolras is a certificated bartender (of sorts)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a monstrosity of 16 word doc pages. I am sorry (i'm not)

The next days flew by in a flurry of dancing, training, meetings and evenings spend on the couch, cooling ankles with ice and warming sore back muscles with hot water bottles at the same time.

The season’s premier would be the next Sunday with Romeo and Juliet – this season they would also give the Nutcracker during the weeks around Christmas, a ballet for the war requiem by Britten, and together with the seniors from ballet school they would perform Peer Gynt. 

Grantaire was in three of those, with Tybalt as his biggest part. In the Britten ballet he and Éponine danced a short but beautiful (and heart breaking) pas-de-deux.

He was really looking forward to this season.

But on the other hand, having to dance (or be there to stand in in case of injury or illness) so much he would be occupied for three to five evenings a week, and having to practice during the day. That meant: less time to spend with his friends.

On Friday was the next Les Amis Meeting (R had pointedly not made fun of the name when Courfeyrac had mentioned it to him because Enjolras had been in hearing distance).

After his talk with Enjolras on Monday, Grantaire had decided to come clean with the rest of the group as well. So before the meeting officially started he approached Enjolras.

“Hey, do you have a second?”

Enjolras looked surprised but nodded and Grantaire led them out of the Musain to talk in private.

“I wanted to talk to you first before I did this because it’s not just about me,” he started once they were outside.

“I wanted to apologize to the rest of the guys and explain what happened last week. I don’t know if you talked to them – and even if you did, I feel like I should address this, too.”

Enjolras nodded.

“I understand. I talked with Combeferre and Courf about this all but not in detail with the others. I mean, they know the general thing but when it is important, they can reign their noisiness and curiosity about topics. If it be anything less serious, they probably would have tortured us for info or something,” Enjolras said with a wry grin.

“Okay, good…” (Hadn’t Éponine told him something like that, too?)

“Don’t worry, they will be cool about it all”

Enjolras put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Grantaire’s heart made a funny little hop. They walked back in together and Enjolras called everyone to the table.

“Hello, thank you all for being here. Before we will start, Grantaire wants to say something.” With that Enjolras sat down and Grantaire felt suddenly nervous because it sounded so official…

“Okay, hello,” he gave a very awkward wave and cleared his throat.

“So, I bet you all remember the last time we were here and how that didn’t play out like the normal evening everyone was expecting. I wanted to say sorry for that and explain want went down. I think you all know the gist of it but I feel I owe you a real explanation.

I, um, wasn’t quite honest with you all. I know Enjolras since we went to high school together…”

Here he caught Enjolras’ eyes and he gave him a little, reassuring smile.

“Well, at first I wasn’t aware of that because in school I never bothered to learn his last name – or anything about him for that matter – so I didn’t make the connection between the guy from school and the friend, you all talked about. I realized the second I saw him, though. I pretended not to know him because of stupid reasons I thought made sense at that time. The reaction last week, that Enjolras became so angry, was… well, it’s because in school, I was a dick. I bullied him and was stupid. I had problems and other people had to suffer because I couldn’t handle my feelings. That Enjolras was angry was very appropriate and to be honest, I am surprised he didn’t deck me.” He gave a grin and winked at Enjolras to lighten the mood a little.

“I almost did deck him” Éponine interjected which made Bahorel laugh.

“I am sorry I lied to you guys and pulled you into this little drama queen intermezzo.”

He shrugged a little and sat down again. The others all started to talk at the same time, assuring him that they weren’t mad, that it was cool of him to tell them and all.

Then Enjolras started to talk and the cacophony of voices died down.

“Thank you, Grantaire. I think I should apologize as well. Even though,“ he started to talk a little louder because Grantaire wanted to protest, “you told me I don’t need to. I wasn't on my best behaviour last week. You all know I try to be in more control of what I say in the heat of an argument and of my feelings. And that wasn’t the case last week. I’m sorry for that”

He actually made little quotation marks for “feelings”. Which earned him a smack on the head from Courf and a roll of the eyes by Ferre. Grantaire found it strangely endearing.

Then the meeting started.

The voting age was discussed once more, Grantaire gave his opinion here and there when he just couldn’t hold back. But apparently that was fine with everyone. Bahorel even backed him up on some points. Enjolras had a spark in his eyes when he found a good counter-argument. At the end of the evening, Grantaire knew he would probably always find a way to talk back but that Enjolras could probably – eventually – find a way to convince him (in some aspects).

The evening ended with drinks and laughs and stories.

When Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were about to get ready to head home, Grantaire stood again and claimed the attention from everyone.

“Hey, before you all go away. I know this is short notice but Ep and I will be busy after the premier next Sunday so we wanted to use this last free weekend. If you like and have time, we thought we could have a Movie Night tomorrow with food, sweets, and alcoholic beverages for the responsible adults.”

That idea was greeted with loud approval.

* * *

“Did we even consider how thirteen people would fit into our living room before we invited them all over? Because I think we did not and now we have a problem.”

Éponine was standing in the middle of the – quite small – living room, eying the couch and the one armchair they possessed.

“We could move the couch to the back. I can put my mattress on the floor and then we just get every blanked we have and make the floor as comfortable as possible.”

While he talked Grantaire got more and more excited because, yes! good idea.

“This looks like a gang-bang is about to happen,” was the first thing Courfeyrac said when he saw the living room.

“Hey, inappropriate!” Grantaire tried to sound offended but had to laugh at the same time.

“It looks like a very comfortable bird’s nest,” was the description Jehan added and they went with that rather than the gang-bang one.

The others arrived and a huge number of snacks, drinks and pizza pilled in the middle of the room and everyone found a place. And even though they spilled over the floor, the armchair, and the couch, they were all snugly squished together.

Courf and Jehan were on the couch, Bahorel claimed the chair with Feuilly in front of him, Cosette and Maris found a place between armchair and couch and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were practically folded together in front of the couch on the mattress. Éponine was sitting on the pillow she had thrown in one corner of the room. Combeferre sat next to her, a move Grantaire may had something to do with.

Enjolras was next to Combeferre his long legs crossed. Grantaire stood in the middle.

“My dears, a little poll via group chat set the theme for the evening: Disney heros!”

Cheers interrupted him.

“Very well. Let’s start with a hero we all know and some love. I present to you: Robin Hood!”

With that he pressed play, bowed, and sat down on the last free floor spot – between Bossuet’s feet and Enjolras.

“If you think I am offended by this, you are wrong.” Enjolras whispered in his ear. Grantaire turned to him with a wide grin.

“Ah, damn. And here I was, thinking I could embarrass you with a foxy fox.”

“I’m not ashamed by my love for this brave fighter for justice!”

“Silence in the back row!” Courfeyrac threw a piece of popcorn at them and both turned to the screen, smiling.

After Robin Hood they decided on Mulan as the next movie.

When it started, Enjolras tried to stretch his legs, but there was no space. He shuffled a bit but still looked uncomfortable.

“Here,” Grantaire whispered, he moved a little to the right (as far as possible with Bossuet’s butt in the way) and pulled a cushion towards him. He popped it up against his side and the door and reckoned Enjolras a little closer so he could lean against it. He hesitated just a little.

He let himself drop against the cushion (and Grantaire) and was finally able to give his legs more space.

“Thanks”

Grantaire just smiled and looked at the screen – but he was highly aware of the weight on his side.

They even started Tangled but half of the bunch fell asleep, even Enjolras nodded off. So Combeferre, ever the sensible one, stopped the film, woke them all and made them get up.

“You can’t all stay here. I think there isn’t enough oxygen in this room for us all to sleep.”

Who was awake enough helped to clean the glasses and put the trash away. Then they all went home.

And although it was just lazy movie watching, Grantaire felt like it was the best evening in a long time.

* * *

Grantaire met Enjolras the next time on Thursday afternoon. He’s had a long training day and now Éponine and he were sitting in the coffee shop, both treating themselves to some cake.

“I swear to god, Le Gros is kicking our butts more that last season,” groaned Éponine in between two bits of cake.

“Maybe he’s finally admitted to himself he’s a sadist and now he’s living his best life?” Grantaire tried to find a good sitting position but his legs hurt no matter what. He was very happy he had an appointment with the masseuse the next day.

“Well, don’t you two look like the prime of youth.”

Both looked up with ugly looks on their faces only to be greeted by a grinning Combeferre.

“Asshole” hissed Ep.

“Mean” added Grantaire.

“How’s the preparation for the premier going, then?” Combeferre slipped onto the bench next to Grantaire.

“Wonderful. Amazing. Thanks for asking” Éponine tried to give him a hard look but it came out rather tired.

Combeferre gave her an encouraging smile.

“I bet you will be magnificent.”

“We’ll never know if Maestro keeps torturing us like this,” Éponine indulged in the dramatics of putting her head on the table, face first.

“Art and suffering and greatness and all.” Combeferre smiled.

Éponine only huffed and propped her head on her hands, looking up at Combeferre.

“You can decide that for yourself. We have this unofficial day at the end of November where every dancer gets two tickets they can give to family and friends or sell on the black market. L’Amis want to see the ballet, right? We thought you can take the four and split the cost for the rest between everyone, then you can all come together but it won’t cost as much.”

“It gets even cheaper because if we buy the tickets, we’ll get a discount on top.” Grantaire added.

“Will that be the Romeo & Juliet one?” That question didn’t come from Ferre but from Enjolras who had appeared at the table.

(‘One never without the other, Grantaire thought)

“Yeah” He had the sudden urge to wipe his face in case there was frosting on it.

“Sounds good! Text the date into the group chat so everyone can save the date.”

Enjolras sat down next to Éponine and smiled at Grantaire. Something warm spread somewhere between his lungs and stomach.

They sat comfortably together. Chatting, eating cake, laughing. Grantaire was happy that it was like this. Easy, nice. He forgot about his sore legs and aching back. He liked to listen to Enjolras talking about something he read about a case he was studying for his PhD thesis. He liked how Combeferre was responding to Éponine’s opinions and the value he gave them. He liked to tease him a bit for the way he got all enthusiastic when he started talking about some obscure illness – and the way Enjolras laughed about it.

When they all got up to leave, Combeferre pulled Enjolras to the side and talked to him quickly and quietly. There was a grin on Enjolras face and then – after a little remark by Ferre – a bit of colour on his cheekbones.

(Not that Grantaire was looking)

“Hey, I was thinking: You have your big opening night this Sunday and I bet you have to rehearse and all but maybe you two would like to come over Saturday evening for dinner?” Combeferre asked, with adorable red ears.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows and looked at Éponine, who was looking at Combeferre but then turned to him.

A very quick, non-verbal conversation happened between them, going something like this:  
(“What d’you think?”)

Half shrug Grantaire.

(“Dress rehearsal ends at four. Last talking about stuff till maybe five”)

Raised eyebrow.

(“Okay, what about the tradition?”)

Slight turn of head from Ép.

(“Maybe it’s time for new ones?”)

A nod from Éponine and a minimal smile from R.  
  


Éponine turned to Combeferre again and gave him one of her very rare real smiles.

“Yes. Great idea. But because it’s the evening before the show, we can’ just eat anything.”

“Yeah, sure, no, of course,” Combeferre said, a bit eagerly – Grantaire caught Enjolras eyes and both had to look away to hide their grins – “Tell me what you can eat and I’ll make it.”

“Lasagne”

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh at the dumbfounded looks on both Ferre’s and Enjolras’ faces.

“It’s not that we are not allowed to eat stuff. As long as we won’t arrive looking like a pregnant lady it’s fine. But we are a tiny bit suspicions –“

“ – just in this instance – “

“ – right, and because on the evening before our first ever premier we decided to have lasagne, we have to have it every time.”

* * *

Grantaire danced every single bit of Tybalt on Friday, under the very pedantic eyes of the Maestro. He nodded and then told him to keep an eye on his fucking turns and don’t you dare have that look on your face while dancing. It was almost praise, Grantaire could have cried happy tears. The pain during the massage was excruciating but after, he felt reborn.  
  


When he left the building, he pulled out his phone. There was a message from Combeferre.

*Hey, do you eat dessert? Or is that too much?*

Grantaire was almost done with his reply, when he had an idea.

~ Hello my dear! No dessert is a must! But don’t worry Ill take care of that ~

He put the phone away and walked home, he had research to do.

* * *

Dress-rehearsal was – as you would expect – chaos.

Juliet’s dress tore. Mercutio actually got stabbed by a rapier (thank god not Grantaire’s). Grantaire fucked up a jump. A rookie burst into tears. It was wonderful.

Even though you could argue that the last-minute mistakes could crash Grantaire’s confidence, he just loved the energy of it all. The fun, the heat, the anger, the shouting, and tears. It would all form a perfect piece in the end.

Yes, of course he was nervous. But also excited.

The rehearsal prevented him from thinking too much about the evening. He was sure that Combeferre’s idea was mainly founded on his wish to spend time with Éponine. As in: not in the big crowd of the group but not yet an actual date. He was such a sweetheart.

But it also meant that Grantaire would spend the evening with Enjolras.

What if they would argue? What if he said something really stupid? What if they had nothing to talk about?

It was irrational, he knew that. They managed to have a normal conversation just two days ago. But his mind liked to think about the worst-case scenarios just for fun.

Because the rehearsal didn’t end at four (as if) and after, there was still a lot to discuss, they got home at half seven. They were to be at Combeferre’s and Enjolras’ at seven.

Both rushed into their rooms to change out of their clothes.

“Thank fuck we showered already!” shouted Grantaire as he struggled to put on his jeans and decided to wear the nice dark-green cashmere jumper Éponine had given him for his birthday.

“R! Help!”

He almost fell over on his way to her room, jumper only half put on, sight dangerously impeded.

“What?!”

“What should I wear?” She was standing there in nice underwear, looking between a few things she had thrown on her bed.

“You could go like that and I’ll stay here.”

She smacked his arm

“Idiot”

“What about that checked short skirt and, um, the black polo neck jumper?”

“Good choice.” She collected the things and went to the bathroom.

“We have ten minutes, Ép. Hurry up!”

They arrived 10 minutes late. The flat was in a quiet little street on the top floor of an old building. When Combeferre opened the door, they could already smell the delicious aromas of tomato sauce and garlic.

“Hello hello. Come in!” Combeferre made space and reckoned them in. “I have to jump back into the kitchen otherwise the garlic bread will catch fire.”

“I love you” Grantaire put down his rucksack and tried to catch a glimpse of want must be the kitchen, inhaling deeply.

“Don’t say that when you actually mean the bread!” Combeferre giggled.

When they pulled of their shoes and jackets, they walked down the hallway when suddenly Enjolras appeared on their left.

“Hey! Sorry, I was making something to drink.” He directed them all into the kitchen where Combeferre was pulling a heavenly looking baguette out of the oven. Definitely the source of the garlic-y scent.

“Okay, the lasagne needs a few more minutes but maybe we can start with the bread?”

“Perfect idea, I am starving” Éponine grinned and took the plate with the bread. “Where are we eating?”

“Follow me” Enjolras turned around and let them to the door he just came from.

It was a very cosy looking living room with a table at one side that was set with slightly mismatched crockery. One wall was covered with bookcases. Grantaire was really curious to see the collection.

Éponine put the bread down on the table and Enjolras handed everyone a glass.

“Seeing as you two have a premier to ace tomorrow and Ferre has a 10 hour shift, I thought we’ll go sober today. So, this is my twist on the Moscow Mule. The Less Moscow Mule.”

“Soooo… it’s just ginger beer with lime?”

“Don’t belittle this creation, Grantaire. I am a certificated bartender.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes.”

“You are shitting me! Combeferre, is that true?” He turned to Combeferre, who was grinning.

“Actually, no. We did a gin work-shop once, tho”

“Brutus” Enjolras said with a huff.

Grantaire roared with laughter, shaking his head and clinking his glass with Ferre, Éponine and last with Enjolras, who gave him a mischievous grin.

Combeferre put on some music (comment Éponine: “A record player, Combeferre, really? You are a god damn hipster”) and they drank their Less Moscow Mule drink and talked about the dress-rehearsal.

At some point, there was beeping coming from the kitchen. Combeferre went to look at the lasagne, accompanied by Éponine, who didn’t trust a lot of people with such an important task.

When they left Grantaire shot Enjolras a grin which he replied with a half-shrug and smile.

“You have a nice place. I would kill for hard-wood floor. Good for dancing.” Grantaire let his eyes wander around the room. Taking in pictures on the wall and the weird flower on the window still.

“Yeah, we had luck. Jehan knew the old lady who lived here. And somehow we managed to talk the owner into letting it to us when she moved. Shall I give you a little tour?”

“Sure”

They got up.

“This is the living-room.”

“Smart-ass.”

“The table isn’t usually used like this. It’s pushed against the wall and we use it as a working space. Feuilly painted the picture over there. I love it.”

He walked across the room and pointed at a few other things and said from which friend they got them. He looked happy and excited and then a bit embarrassed when he said that he wasn’t allowed to touch the flower (“I kill things. Unintentionally, of course.” – “Of course”).

Form there he showed him the hallway, where they had a big mirror. When Grantaire caught his reflection, he saw that there was a smile on his face he hadn’t been aware of.

“This is Combeferre’s room. FERRE! Can I show R your room?!” The last part was shouted in the direction of the kitchen.

“SURE THING”

Grantaire tried not to focus too hard on the use of his nickname.

“Okay, this is Ferre’s room. It speaks for itself.”

It did. There was an enormous poster of a medieval drawing of a body. More bookcases. A painting of a moth. The desk was overflowing with books and papers. A skeleton next to the window.

“What about the fluffy bunny slippers?”

“Gift from Jehan.”

Yes, Grantaire thought, this looks exactly like he would imagen the inside of Combeferre’s brain.

“So, how about your room, then?”

“Only if you don’t make fun of me.”

Grantaire pretended to be offended.

“I would NEVER”

Enjolras gave him a look and opened the door next to the living room, opposite Combeferre’s room.

“Tada.”

Where Combeferre’s room was more dark tones and softness, this was like looking into fire.

“Wow. Red.”

There was an enormous red carpet on the floor, covering most of the wood. He had a high-end looking print of Delacroix’s _Liberty leading the People_ on the wall above his bed. The bedsheets were red as well.

“Of course, you have that painting. You dork”

“Oy, what was that about not mocking?”

His desk was more organized that Ferre’s but there were books everywhere. There was a candle on the window still. Grantaire wouldn’t have ever thought Enjolras to be a candle-sort of person, but here you go.

And then he saw it, in the corner of the room.

“You play the violin?” He turned around to look at Enjolras who was watching him closely.

“Not as much as I would like.”

Grantaire wasn’t sure if he could handle that information. He had such a soft spot for musicians…

“Come eat!”

Éponine saved him from having to think of an answer.

The lasagne was fucking amazing. If this was any indicator, the premier would be a roaring success. But even though it was a really, really good lasagne, they had to cut back a little. They had to dance tomorrow, after all. And there was dessert.

“So, I heard you brought dessert?” Combeferre stretched on is chair and smiled lazily.

Éponine shot him a confused look.

“You did? I didn’t saw you make any.”

“Well, I still have to give it a few finishing touches. Can I use your kitchen? And do you have a toaster?”

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you have pop tarts?” Éponine looked slightly disgusted. Grantaire ignored her.

“Sure. Shall I help you?” Combeferre asked.

“No. Stay there. You graced us with this divine pasta so you should relax and let the toaster do the work.”

With that he left and walked into the kitchen. He opened a few cupboards at random.

“The toaster is in the cupboard down on the left.”

He turned around and found Enjolras leaning in the door.

“Thank you. Actually, I want this to be a surprise. So maybe you’d like to go back to the living-room.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows.

“No. If you abuse our toaster, I’d rather watch. Also, I don’t want to cockblock Combeferre.”

“How nice of you.”

“I am known to be a very good friend.”

“Shut up and hand me my rucksack, if you don’t want to leave.”

Enjolras handed him the bag and Grantaire carefully pulled out three paper boxes. Then he put the toaster on the counter and plucked it in. He turned to Enjolras and took a deep breath:

“Soo, this is actually a surprise for you. To say thanks and sorry again, I guess. Also, you were so adamant about this. And even tho it isn’t the real deal, it comes close. At least, I was told so by Michel.”

Enjolras just stared at him, confused look on his face.

Grantaire handed him one of the paper boxes and Enjolras opened it.

He looked up, looking slightly stunned.

“Well, see, Michel, who dances in the company, is from Ghent and knows this bakery in town where they have French stuff but also make these. He said they are the closest to the things he knows from home. And the guy in the bakery told me that you can put them into a toaster to heat them up. I guess they are best when eaten there, but …”

“Thank you, R! This is very very nice” Enjolras beamed at him and took one of the waffles out of the box. “They look amazing.”

Grantaire wasn't sure if a human face should shine like that but Enjolras’ smile was actually radiant.

The toaster did what it does. The first waffle was a bit burned but the others came out perfect and smelled heavenly.

“I missed this smell so much!”

Enjolras was like a little child, all excited and giddy. It was contagious. Two grown-up men should probably not have as much fun as these two when slightly destroying a toaster by putting very sugary waffles into it.

The waffles were a success, although Grantaire burned his tongue on the first bite.

But then he and Éponine had to go to get a good nights sleep. Éponine hugged both Enjolras and Combeferre before leaving, maybe extending the hug with the latter a bit.

“Break a leg, you two!”

“Thank you. See you soon!”

“Thanks again for the waffle” Enjolras whispered when he handed Grantaire the rucksack. “You will be amazing tomorrow”

“Thanks”

They smiled at each other and – with a lot of force – Grantaire turned and left the flat, following Éponine.

* * *

The premier was a fucking success. Like the lasagne had predicted.

* * *

October began and Grantaire was busy. The good kind of busy. He managed to go to the meetings, although irregularly. The topics ranged from small things to big philosophical discussions. He met Joly for lunch sometimes, went running with Bahorel, watched Éponine and Combeferre dance around each other. Yes, he was busy and happy.

Sometimes he and Enjolras grabbed a coffee in the afternoon when he came from work and Enjolras was between work and “a quick visit to the library” as he called it.

(Combeferre told him, that he sometimes had to drag Enjolras home.)

They had found a balance between having interesting debates about most topics and intense talks about some. Grantaire enjoy those hours with Enjolras. It was a good change to think about other things than ballet. And he had the feeling that Enjolras wasn’t opposed to it, either.

Grantaire liked how Enjolras talked with his hands, how he had this intense look in his eyes when he wanted to convince someone. He admired the easy confidence with which Enjolras moved through life without ever being arrogant.

Grantaire had come to expect his little sarcastic comments, always looking forward to the sly grin that accompanied them. But most of all, he liked Enjolras’ laugh. When he laughed, surrounded by his friends, Grantaire thought that that was the sound of pure happiness.

(‘Fucking hell, Grantaire. Get a grip.’)

But he had to admit to himself, that he was more than half way down the rabbit hole, already. This wasn’t the unhealthy obsession of his teenage years and it wasn’t the idealization that stood at the beginning of the Enjolras/Kid from The Lost Four Years drama.

He was positive that he adored this version, this genuine version of Enjolras more than he ever thought he would. And this Enjolras was so much more, so much better than any kind of mental image he had built inside his head all those years ago. Because his Apollo had become human and it’s always better to love a human than a god – it’s less dangerous.

This realisation came when October morphed into November.

* * *

~Salut, E! Wanna go try The Waffles at the actual place without having to cover your toaster in sugar and crumbs? ~

\+ Definitely! When are you free? +

~ How about tomorrow? I’ll meet you in front of your work at 4 ~

\+ Great! I am EXCITED +

“What are you smiling at, idiot?” Éponine threw a shoe at him.  
“Nothing”

Éponine only raised a very judgemental eyebrow.

“I’m meeting Enjolras tomorrow to give him the tickets for next week.”

He tried to sound casual but he was sure that he was blushing a bit.

“Aw, good for you. Little R has a date with his crush.”

“Rocks and glass houses, Ép.”

He grinned at her while she blushed a tiny bit.

Éponine had a date with Combeferre on Saturday.

(Some exchange of money took place when the news made the round at the Musain last week.)

* * *

The next day, he arrived early in front of the huge brick building in the city where Enjolras was working. He waited next to the entrance, searching for a place where the harsh autumn wind wasn’t as biting.

“Hey you!”

He looked up at a smiling Enjolras. He was wearing a red peacoat and a black woolly hat. Grantaire had to swallow once.

“Hey, let’s go then. It’s too cold to stand around.”

From this point in town it wasn’t too far to the bakery. A few stops with the subway and they arrived at a station that was close to the river.

When they emerged the sticky-warm belly of the subway the cold hit them in the face, smelling like river and fallen leaves.

Grantaire took the lead and walked them down a little ally.

“Here we are,” he said in front of a small shop.

“It looks lovely,” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire and pulled the door open. Grantaire walked in first. He turned around to see how Enjolras was reacting to the shop. Enjolras had pulled off the hat, his hair sticking up. Blond, soft curls everywhere.

Grantaire grinned, pointed at his head

“Nice bed-head.”

“Shut up, it’s the hat.” He smoothed his hair and pulled it into a little ponytail.

“Find a place to sit, there aren’t many. I bet I can guess what you’d order.”

Enjolras walked to a small table at the window, Grantaire turned to the counter and ordered two waffles, one black coffee and one of those obscenely sweet coffee drinks Enjolras loved.

“The waffles will be ready in a minute,” with that Grantaire sat the mugs down and peeled his coat off.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Enjolras was (again, R’s brain provided) smiling at him.

“Well, I couldn’t justify holding the information back for much longer. No lies and secrets and stuff.” He said it with humour in his voice but Enjolras suddenly looked a lot more serious.

‘Oh no, bad topic? Maybe no good idea to start talking about why we ever started to talk about waffles’ Grantaire thought and went into diversion mode:

“It’s not just waffles, though. I have something for you.”

“Oh, really?” Enjolras looked surprised.

“Yeah, - “

But in that moment the guy from the counter brought them the waffles. Steaming, sweet-smelling, heavily powder-sugared waffles.

“Fuck, they look good!”

Profanities and sweets were a strangely appealing combinations and Grantaire wasn’t sure if he could handle this foul-mouthed soft side of Enjolras he was seeing. He concentrated on his waffle instead.

“Dig in. Waffles first, everything else second.”

“And?” Grantaire asked tentatively after a few seconds.

“So good. Not quit as good as the ones in Brussels but, oh, so really good. Thank you Grantaire”

Their eyes met of a few seconds until Enjolras looked at his waffle again, smile on his lips.

They finished their waffles in comfortable silence.

“So. You said, you’ve got something for me?”

“Yes! Right. I mean, that was a slightly teasing start because it’s not just for you. I have the tickets for next week. Maybe you can give them to the guys on Friday, I have to work.”

“Sure, I can do that!”

He handed Enjolras the tickets and he looked at them like they were something very precious.

“I am really looking forward to this. Everyone is. My first ballet!”

Grantaire had to laugh at the genuine excitement. He loved seeing Enjolras like this.

“Your first time. I’ll make sure it’s good for you” He winked and Enjolras turned a little pink. Grantaire tried not to read too much into it.

* * *

You know, maybe sometimes we start something in a very wrong way. Maybe we take the train in the wrong direction. Maybe we buy the wrong colour because we think we look good in blue before we realize it makes us look tired. Maybe sometimes we write down the wrong time and arrive at a meeting 24 hours early. Maybe sometimes we dig holes instead of flying.

The question is, is that coincidence? I guess, most time it is.

But maybe – possibly – the universe (or fate, god, etc.) sometimes wants us to get it wrong at first. Because maybe it thinks that we then appreciate it more how things turn out.  
  


Or maybe the universe (fate, god, etc.) is just a little shit that likes to have fun at our expense.

(But – most times – it means good, I think)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I always up the number of chapters and hope nobody notices. But i am almost sure the next is the last.  
> I didn't want to rush things because it should feel natural for our two boys to come to like eachother.  
> Bear with me.
> 
> Next on: L'Amis go and see Romeo & Juliet and R's ass in tights is appreciated.


	9. To be honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which L'Amis see a ballet and the universe (fate, god, etc.) gets what it wants

Grantaire wasn't able to spend a lot of time with the others that week. On Saturday he had to stand in for another dancer who lightly sprained his ankle and was supposed to rest for that day.

That also meant he wasn’t there to see Éponine leave for her date with Combeferre and, when he came home, was so exhausted that he – even though he tried very hard not to – fell asleep before she came home again.

(With any other guy, Grantaire would have been wide awake, always ready to get her out. But really, this was Combeferre.)

He was treated to the details over a late breakfast on Sunday.

Apparently, Combeferre was better at dates than him taking such a long time and his gentleness would let you to suspect. They saw a play that Éponine had mentioned once and after that they went to a little French place. They discussed the play, the food. They talked about why they had chosen the profession they had. They talked about anything, they talked about everything. Apparently, they talked until the place closed.

“He makes me see the world with different eyes. You know, he sees beauty in so many things…” She looked into her tea with a fond smile Grantaire wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

“And was he a gentlemen or do I have to steal the rapier from probs and challenge him to a duel?”

“Idiot.” Éponine grinned, “you know how polite he is…”

“Soooo?”

“He walked me home and we kissed good-night.”

Grantaire made a ‘whoooop’ sound and hugged her across the table which earned him a fond slap around the head.  
  


* * *

The unofficial family show would be on Friday. He knew that their friends were really excited to see him and Éponine dance. Bossuet kept asking questions and on Wednesday he got a message from Feuilly asking if they were supposed to dress up. He loved their enthusiasm.

After the day at the café, he had seen Enjolras only once. They had a quick lunch together on Tuesday after rehearsal and meetings. Enjolras had given him a quick hug as a good-bye, telling him how much he was looking forward to Friday. After that, Grantaire basically floated through the day.

Friday arrived and Grantaire felt more nervous than on opening night.

He headed to work around 3pm. Warm up, stretching, talking with the others, a few revisions of the fight scene with Michel, who danced Mercutio.

The show started at 7.00 pm.

They had told the others they could meet them at the stage door at five-thirty, if they had the time, for a quick chat beforehand.

Éponine was wearing her coat and Grantaire a very big, thick wool jumper because outside it was freezing and they had to keep warm, keep the muscles and sinews soft.

Outside were Combeferre, Marius and Cosette, Joly and Musichetta, and Enjolras. The others were on their way, having to work longer.

Loud greetings welcomed the two dancers and they all huddled together behind the stage door inside (even if that wasn't really allowed, but what the hell).

“We are so excited! I listened to the music at work today and I think I’m going to cry. It’s so beautiful.” Cosette was beaming.

“Is that you’re costume?” Marius looked at Grantaire with wide eyes.

“What?” asked Grantaire, confused.

“The jumper and Éponine in the coat?” Marius pointed at him.

“No!” Grantaire laughed “It’s just cold as hell. I mean the tights are costume but under the jumper is the actual burgundy waistcoat of the Capulets.”

He pulled his jumper up a bit to show them.

“Nice butt, R.” Joly said with a dirty grin.

“Thanks. I work hard for it” Grantaire winked.

From the general direction of Enjolras and Combeferre came a strangle noise.

Grantaire turned to see Enjolras quickly averting his eyes and focusing on Éponine instead, who was currently showing Cosette and Musichetta her dress.

“We are getting something to eat after this, right? A late evening visit to a pizza place or something?” Joly asked.

“Sure! We’ll need some time, but if you go to the bar at the top floor and tell the black-haired woman behind the counter – her name is Floreal – that you are our friends she’ll give you something to drink. We will meet you there.” Éponine said and then looked at her phone. “R, we have to go. Everyone, thank you so much for coming tonight! See you on the other side.”

Marius, Cosette, Joly and Musichetta walked out but Combeferre stayed and gave Éponine a quick kiss and whispered something into her ear. She smiled and nodded.

Combeferre gave Grantaire a pat on the shoulder and went as well.

Grantaire turned and then saw that Enjolras was still standing next to the door.

“Hey, you look smart.”

Enjolras blinked, confused, then: “Oh, thanks. I came directly from work. I had to appear in court today.”

“It went alright?” Grantaire felt like something was a bit off about Enjolras, he looked – nervous?

“Yeah, it was a success. Listen, um,” he took a step towards Grantaire. “I wanted to – “

but here they were interrupted by a gong. The signal for the dancers to gather for last minute instruction and pre-show pep talk.

Enjolras pulled his hand through his hair.

“Never mind it can wait. Just,” here he stepped even closer and put his hand on Grantaire’s arm, “I am very much looking forward to seeing you dance, R. I am always looking forward to see you.”

His hand slipped down his arm and squeezed his hand, holding it for a few short seconds. Then Enjolras gave him one last smile, turned, and left.

Grantaire stared at the slowly closing door, his hand still feeling Enjolras soft fingers.

‘What in the name of the Gods…’Grantaire started to walk down the corridor.

Enjolras had sounded so soft, so sincere.

What had he meant? What…?

Oh.

Grantaire halted abruptly, his heart beating fast.

Could it really be? Could this mean what he thinks it does? What he hoped for? Was this Enjolras way of telling him…

‘No, come on, R. Why should he…’

Grantaire’s legs started to work again, bringing him to the rehearsal room.

His thoughts were racing. They jumped around his head, doing pirouettes.

But – and this was a very new feeling for him – although his mind was basically doing back-flips going over those few sentences Enjolras just said, he didn’t feel panicky. There was no real bad feeling in all of it. Rather, it was? What?

Hopefulness?

‘Oh hell, when did I become an optimist?’

Some things of what was happening inside must have shown on his face, because Éponine looked at him with critical eyes when he (as the last one) joined the group. He shook his head a little, indicating that he was fine.

He was only listening half-hearted. Mind going back to the way Enjolras hand had felt, the look in his eyes and that soft, soft smile on his lips.

One hour till curtain time. All went to do their make-up or doing last minute warm-ups. The usual before-show hectic.

“Okay, spill. What’s up? You look like you’re high.” Éponine pulled him into an empty dressing room.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he blushed a bit but tried to look nonchalant.

“What did he say?”

“Who?”

“Enjolras. He was still there when I left. So it must be him. What did he say?”

Grantaire squirmed a bit but knew there was no way he could not tell Éponine.

“I, um, this will sound stupid. But he said something that makes me think that he might possibly - you know - like me.” For emphasis he underlined the word _like_ with a hand gesture. Oh god, he felt like a little schoolgirl with a crush.

“Did he, now?” Éponine raised a quizzical eyebrow. Her total lack of surprise made Grantaire pause. He focussed her with a stern look.

“Okay what did Combeferre tell you? Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Do you talk about this when you aren’t gazing lovingly in each other’s eyes?”

Grantaire felt like he might explode. Because, what the hell, Éponine?

“Nope. Not my thing to tell. But, R, don’t think too much about it now. You have to perform in an hour. And if you have a good feeling about this, keep it that way. It will work out.”

‘That’, Grantaire thought, ‘is a very weird thing to say.’

“Hey, when did you become so terrible at giving advice?”

“I am amazing at giving advice.”

“Right now, you really are not.”

She hit his arm, “Hey, I said it will work out”

“Yeah and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“See, I was very critical about this thing at the very beginning, right? But now, after seeing you two interact, I am not. Not so much, anyway. I can only guess what’s happening in you funny brain and I just want to tell you: right now, don’t worry about it. It will work out.”

“You just repeated what you said before!” His voice squeaked a bit. “And what do you mean ‘after seeing us interact’? Époniiiiiiine!”

But Éponine just let out a long breath, a very exasperate look on her face.

“Go, get ready to dazzle them all with your dancing. I have to put make-up on. You too, by the way. Come on.” With that she walked out on him.

And although, this had not been the talk he wanted – or expected – it actually added to the strange glowing feeling in his chest.

With a lot of effort, he concentrated on his make-up, the last stretching and warm-ups. But when the bell rang for the first time, his mind pushed all the thoughts of Enjolras to the back. This – the bell ringing, the orchestra tuning their instruments for the last time, the distant shuffle of hundreds of feet in the auditorium – they were the sounds that made him focus. Focus on what’s ahead, on steps, on movement, on the beauty of the dance.

When the bell rang for the third time, they gathered in the wings of the stage.

The orchestra played the first notes of Prokofiev’s music.

During the performance, Grantaire didn’t pay attention to the audience. He never did. Or rather, he didn’t pay attention to single members of the audience. The audience as a whole was always at the edge of his field of vision.

He danced good. Very good. He managed to make the jumps look even more effortless, to bring more strength to his play. It may have been his best performance of Tybalt yet.

After he “died”, which happens before intermission, and went off stage Le Gros gave him an approving nod.

Then he had the chance to watch the audience from the wings. He could see his friends – sitting halfway up the stalls – and their reaction to what happened on stage. He saw Combeferre watch Éponine, he could see Cosette and Marius cry, he could see the way Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta held hands. He could see Bahorel putting his arm around Feuilly.

And he saw Enjolras. He saw the way his eyes seemed to shine in the dim light of the auditorium, he could see him moving a bit to the music, closing his eyes from time to time. He could see him furtively wiping his eyes when Juliet found Romeo dead at her side.

The last notes of the music still lingered in the air but the silence that followed lasted only a second – then the audience erupted in applause.

Curtain-call.

They came on stage in pairs and in trios. He went out with Murat, who danced the Lord, and Toby, who danced the priest. He bowed; his eyes fixed on Enjolras.

Enjolras was beaming. A flush on his face, a smile so bright Grantaire could only smile back, wide and happy.

Lastly, the whole compagnie stood on stage, clapping as well, waiting for Le Gros to make his quick appearance.

Then it was over. He hugged Éponine and they went to get ready to join their friends.

Grantaire had stretched the kinks out of his legs during second half and just needed to take a shower. Éponine had to do the whole cool-down thing but she was quick.

They reached the bar at the top floor of the theatre some 60 minutes after the performance had ended. L’Amis greeted them with whistles, applause, cheers, and gathered them in an enormous group hug. Much to the amusement of the few last guest still being there.

R slipped behind the bar counter to Floreal. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and, with a wink, a bottle of champagne.

“A little surprise. Some dude ordered three in advance, but they only managed to drink two during intermission. I saved this one for you.”

“You are an actual angel. Thank you!”

He took a tablet with glasses and the bottle and walked back to the group.

“Well I want to hear your opinions – but first: Champagne!”

More cheers. Everyone got a little glass – to many friends and sadly no magnum bottle – but they all laughed and toasted to the two dancers.

Even Grantaire allowed himself the delight that is very good champagne.

He caught Enjolras eyes, who was smiling at him. He started to make his way over but he was interrupted by Bahorel and Feuilly who had disturbingly specific questions about his dance belt.

“Guys, let’s move this outside. I booked a table at Angelo’s for 12pm. We should get going” Musichetta shouted over their heads. Everyone started moving, coats already picked up from the cloakroom. Angelo’s wasn’t that far away so they walked.

First, Grantaire was walking next to Cosette who asked him about the costume choices. Then he found himself at the back of the group, next to Enjolras.

“Hey” He smiled at him. “So, how did you find your first ballet?”

“It was wonderful. It really was. It’s impressive how the depth and the emotions of something as word-heavy and powerful as a Shakespeare play can be portrait by music and body-movement alone.”

“That’s the magic.” Grantaire nodded.

“You are amazing. I mean, I have no expertise, but just seeing the energy radiating off of you, I can tell you are a very talented dancer. It was beautiful.”

Grantaire thought back to that one time weeks ago when Enjolras had said something about him being a good dancer. They had only met 24 hours earlier. Everything about it felt different this time. There was no look of determination, no tone in Enjolras voice like he knew more than Grantaire. This time he said it with enthusiasm and warmth.

(But maybe, back then, Grantaire had judged everything from a different perspective.)

“Thank you”

They walked slower, falling a bit behind.

“I am glad you could be there, tonight.”

Enjolras looked at him, the darkness and the streetlights playing with his profile. A golden curl peeking out from under his hat. He looked thoughtful.

He stopped.

“Grantaire,” it sounded like a question. Grantaire looked up, only now realising that Enjolras was a few centimetres taller than him. He looked unsure.

“After we talked about…you know, our misunderstanding, you said no more lies or evading topics, do you remember?”

As if Grantaire could forget that Monday; he nodded, suddenly nervous.

“I feel like I am evading a topic, though. I am trying to live my life as honest as possible. Talk about things that matter, being up-front about problems and change what needs to be changed. I am good at that. At work, in court, with L’Amis.”

Enjolras looked at the sky, frowning.

“I’m not sure I can follow?” Grantaire was a bit confused as in which direction this conversation was going.

“I haven’t been honest with you”

Oh.

“Ever since Ferre told me that Joly and he met you at the coffee shop and you and Ép became their friends I was intrigued. Intrigued by what the others told me about you. That you – as Courf said – had a sharp mind, a sharper tongue, and a heart of gold. I wanted to be your friend. Then I met you –“

was he blushing or was it the ice-cold November night?

“ – and I liked you. And after the fight, how you reacted and how I got to know you all over again – better, more profound – actually made me like you even more.”

He took a step closer to Grantaire, searching his face. Grantaire felt like gravity intensified and he was anchored on this spot in exactly this moment in time – nothing moved.

“Enjolras, what…” his voice was barely a whisper.

“I lied. Not so much that I told a lie, more like I haven’t been honest. You are funny, intelligent, kind, thoughtful and – honestly – hot as hell. I want to know your opinion on everything, I want to see you try to suppress a grin every time Marius says something stupid during meetings, I want to eat waffles with you on Sunday morning, I want to hear you talk about ballet, I want to argue about stuff with you and I want to make you laugh. I want to see you dance again. I lied, R. I don’t want to be your friend. I want so much more…”

Now it was like gravity decided to stop working, Grantaire felt like he was floating.

Enjolras took a breath, having rushed the last words. His face was open, honest, and vulnerable. Grantaire had so many things he wanted to say, but his mind was unable to form words. He knew he had to say something because there was already something new in Enjolras eyes, an insecurity he’d never seen before.

He reached out, taking Enjolras cold hand. He smiled and was met with a little smile by the other. Then, very carefully – to give Enjolras time to respond – he took the last step to close the distance between them. His other hand found the lapel of Enjolras coat and pulled him closer. He looked into those impossibly blue eyes and then, he kissed him.

Enjolras leaned into it. His hand cupped Grantaire’s cheek and the other, on the small of his back, pulled him in.

After a few seconds Grantaire broke the kiss, keeping his face close to Enjolras.

“So you think I’m hot?” he murmured.

He could feel, rather than see, Enjolras grin.

“That’s what you take from this?”

Grantaire shrugged, a smile spreading across his face.

“I thought so the moment I saw you at Jehan’s and honestly, seeing you almost naked wasn’t that bad, either.”

Grantaire laughed but was silenced by another kiss, this time more passionate, nothing like the almost shy first kiss.

Grantaire wanted to keep kissing Enjolras forever but he forced himself to end the kiss, looking Enjolras in the eyes.

“I want to spend my Sunday afternoons with you, I want to hear your sarcastic comments on everything, I want to hear you play the violin, I want you to tell me your ideas, I want to wake up next to you, I want to go to Brussels with you so you can introduce me to your favourite waffle place, I want to argue with you and make you laugh, too. I want to be your friend and so much more.”

With everything he said he could see him light up more.

“And, right now, I want to grab some pizza with you and our friends and enjoy this probably unhealthy amount of happiness I’m feeling.”

Enjolras took his hand.

“Well, let’s go then.”

* * *

Sometimes the universe seems to be a cheeky bitch, because sometimes it gets bored and plays with the feelings of the humans on earth. It does that out of good-will. But even though it is so very old and has seen so much it cannot really estimate the consequence of its actions. I think in the middle of the universe is love, but that doesn’t mean it understands that feeling – or the emotions of the humans. So sometimes it decides to meddle with the lives of people one would – at the first glance – not think capable of loving each other. And you would think: No, don’t do that, they will crash and burn and suffer. But the universe likes to take a risk. And it really loves to see everything work out fine.

What I am trying to say is this: sometimes the working method of the universe seems to be unreasonable but love seldom grows out of reason. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. It's done.  
> This started years ago and was never intended to be multi-chaptered and over 30k words long.  
> Thank you for reading this, for leaving comments, and kudos.
> 
> L.


End file.
